


Blade Runner

by arbitrary_introvert



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuthbert Sinclair/Dean, Dean Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Dean Winchester abducted, Dean Winchester fanfic, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Abuse, Hurt Dean, Hurt Dean Winchester, Kidnapped Dean, Kidnapped Dean Winchester, Magnus is kinda nice but not really, Magnus sits on a throne of lies, Mark of Cain, Multi, Poor Dean, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Sad Dean, Sam's dead, Supernatural - Freeform, This is my first fic please be kind lol, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Tortured Dean, Tortured Sam Winchester, dean winchester fanfiction, i'm horrible at tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-09-14 13:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16913586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrary_introvert/pseuds/arbitrary_introvert
Summary: Sam and Dean go to the home of Magnus, formerly known as Cuthbert Sinclair, in search of the First Blade. Dean knew how he wanted the exchange to go, how it should have gone, but maybe for once, he was thinking too positively.Because the next thing he knew, Sammy was dead and Dean was held captive in an eternity filled with pain, darkness, and plenty more struggles that he had a feeling he might not be able to overcome.In which Magnus uses Dean to harness the power of the Mark of Cain and the First Blade.***Hi guys! My name's Cherry and this is my first fanfiction I'm posting on this site. Basically, I'm an angst whore and as I was rewatching season 9, episode 16 (It's called Blade Runners in case you wanna go back and watch it too), and I couldn't help but get this kinda creepy vibe from Magnus that I felt like I needed to expose.In the event that anybody reads this, I hope you like it and I would love constructive criticism.P.S. I haven't quite figured out this site yet so hopefully there's no bumps in the road or anything lol. Enjoy the read!





	1. Chapter One

Chapter One

The sensation was hot and burning as it raced through Dean’s veins, lacing up and down his body and especially his forearm where the Mark of Cain seared with heat against his skin. 

Was it painful? He wasn’t sure, it was all so new and foreign, it burned so much — _it hurts_ — no it didn’t, it was just overwhelming… Unbearable, too much, not painful but it was and he hated it and dear God make it stop—

The First Blade clattered to the floor as his fragmented senses desperately tried to escape its power. 

When Dean had pieced together his ability to think enough that he could raise his head, there was Magnus, watching with almost childlike glee and excitement in his eyes. 

“Good,” Magnus murmured as he eagerly bent to pick the blade up off the ground. He came up again with it in the palm of his hand. “Next time, it’ll be easier.”

There was a grin on his face, somewhat deranged but a grin all the same. He placed the First Blade back on its stand. Dean remained where he was bound, only able to stare at his trembling hand and wonder. 

_What the hell just happened to me?_

Almost his entire forearm was shaking. Remnants of what Dean could only describe as The Feeling that accompanied holding the blade sent spasmodic twitching through the limb as pieces of the power left behind worked its way out of him. 

“You’ll get used to the feelings.” Magnus’s voice broke through Dean’s thoughts, enthused as it was yet also comforting, but also despicable to Dean’s own mind. “Even welcome them.” 

Dean tried to recollect his thoughts. The burning was finally beginning to truly subside; his arm barely twitched anymore, the pain was gone. He decided to ignore the sudden desire to hold the First Blade again that panged in his chest. 

“You’ll come to understand, Dean, that _nothing_ can stop us.” Magnus was getting more animated now, enthusiasm rapidly increasing. “Anything, anyone we want to own, or destroy, is ours!”

“How about this, Magnus,” Dean said finally, his voice sounding low and raw to his ears, “How about I take a knee? Then what are you gonna do? You gonna kill me?”

He waited, watching Magnus’s face for even the slightest flicker of hesitation that he could take advantage of. 

Magnus nearly pursed his lips, thought for a moment. 

Dean thought perhaps that that was a chance, a crack in Magnus’s perfect plan. After all, he couldn’t use the blade without Dean, right? He pressed harder. 

“Cause without this thing on my arm,” —The Mark twinged and sent sparks shooting through Dean’s skin— “That thing’s nothing but a hunk of bone with teeth.”

Magnus didn’t respond right away. 

“Hmm,” was all he said, and for a second, Dean thought he saw an opening, a chance to do something, cause a distraction, escape… 

Then the man took a step closer. 

“Well, I’m not asking you for your cooperation.” His eyebrows rose slightly. “I’m just taking it.”

Before Dean could react, Magnus’s hand shot out, gripping his head firmly. He didn’t even have time to speak before he could hear a spell emerging from the man’s lips. 

“ _Mentem tuam ac voluntatem adsumo._ ” 

Things seemed to slow down. Dean suddenly wasn’t sure of anything, why he had come here, what he really wanted, or why. A strange sensation settled in his chest as his thoughts dulled. An unknown sadness crept over him. 

All he was able to do was stare helplessly, hopelessly at Magnus, unable to muster even the will to ask _what did you do to me?_

Magnus seemed to understand, though, because he laughed a little. “Interesting effect, huh?” He asked, avidity once again taking over him, “All thought, all will, just drained out of you.”

He made a low sweeping gesture with hands, demonstrating his metaphor while the spell finally took its full effect on Dean. 

It made him exhausted. Dean didn’t want to fight, he just wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep forever, no more mark of Cain, no more Crowley or disappointed Sam, no more of any of it. He would’ve collapsed if the chains would’ve allowed it. 

“I do this enough,” Magnus continued, his voice getting low as he took a step back to survey, licking his lips slightly, “And you’ll be ready for whatever I have in mind.”

And for a reason that Dean couldn’t quite place, he shivered at the expression that Magnus had on his face.

“So, do you know what we do now?” Magnus asked, clasping his hands together with renewed spirit. 

Dean barely heard him, lost for a moment in his own world of emptiness. 

“Dean,” Magnus raised his voice only slightly, “I asked you, do you know what we do now?”

Dean looked up at him. Then he realized that an answer was expected of him, so he shook his head a little, saying, “No, I…” He grasped at the words as they slipped through his fingers. “I don’t.”

Magnus grinned again. 

“We wait for the ordinary to return to the extraordinary,” he said, “We wait for your little brother to come back here with the chubby demon king. And then I’ll get rid of the both of them so I- so we -can prepare you for the rest of your eternity.”

“I don’t want eternity. I want to get rid of Abaddon,” Dean insisted, though it almost felt like he was trying to convince himself for than Magnus. “If you hurt Sam—”

“Oh, don’t fret. It won’t hurt him.”

“He’ll fight you. He’ll kick your ass.”

“Oh, ho!” Magnus laughed, “My spell wore off of you quickly, didn’t it? Usually it lasts at least a day. You’re determined to be quite the challenge.” 

He began to walk from the room. 

“Magnus!” Dean shouted, “Stay the hell away from him!”

“Stay quiet now, Dean. We don’t want him to find out our plan.”

“I’ll kill you!”

Then the man was gone. 

**𐌕𐌉𐌌𐌏𐌓**

Dean knew Sam. He knew how his brother worked, knew that Sam wouldn’t just kill Magnus and call it a day, but try to use Magnus to find Dean. 

_Don’t fall for it, Sammy, just kill him, just get it over with and kill him…_

Of course, about ten agonizing minutes later, Sam emerged from the hallway with a knife against Magnus’s throat. 

“Sam,” Dean’s voice was still patchy and far away sounding. “ _No._ ”

Sam looked confused that Dean wasn’t ready to leap into action upon being found. Until he looked to the left, saw the real Magnus, and had barely enough reaction time to save his own life. Sam barely managed to stab the shapeshifter. Dean felt a breath of relief escape his chest. 

“A shapeshifter. See, there are benefits to keeping a zoo.” Magnus’s eyes glinted. 

He tilted the gun in his hand slightly as a way of commanding Sam to move. Get over there. Dean’s chest tightened, his head falling back against the pole he was tied to as he realized what was happening. 

“You know, I discarded you far too quickly, Sam. You’re way more valuable than I thought you were.” Magnus unsheathed a long, dangerous looking knife and took a few calculated steps closer to where Sam was now tied up. “Why would I knock myself out trying to sap out your will—”

He gestured at Dean with the knife, then moved even closer to Sam. 

“—When I think Sam here will get you to see things my way?”

Sam stared down the knife in front of him, hiding any fear behind a stony expression, and Dean was proud. Proud of Sam for trying to rescue him and for being brave, but devastated at the same time, because he had gotten Sam into this situation; it was _his_ fault. 

“Magnus, I swear to God,” Dean ground out.

“What? What are you going to do? What’s he gonna do?” He asked Sam, “Huh?”

Then he dug the knife into the skin on Sam’s cheek. 

It was fast, over in a second. Sam barely made any noise save for a cry that he quickly smothered into a quiet grunt. Just like that. It could’ve been worse. 

Dean jerked against the chains as rage exploded inside him. 

“Look, Sam, I’m not gonna kill you, of course not.” That comforting voice came back, the same one that he had used on Dean when he had first dropped the First Blade. “But I am going to make you suffer unimaginably.”

He dug the knife into the side of Sam’s neck this time. 

In a perfect world, Crowley would’ve got there in time, Dean would have escaped the chains to stop Sam from getting hurt more. 

But they had underestimated the warding in this place. 

The second Crowley stepped through that doorway, Magnus whirled from where he stood, brandishing the knife. Crowley froze in place, his hand reaching out for the padlock on Dean’s chains, too late.

“You made a mistake, didn’t you, Crowley?” Magnus asked. 

“Perhaps,” Crowley muttered, his sly mind rapidly trying to come up with a way out of there. Dean locked eyes with Sam. There had to be a plan B, something they could come up with on the fly, right?

Magnus snapped his fingers. “ _Haec oratio evanescet, et non revertetur!_ ”

Crowley’s eyes widened, but then he was gone in a puff of red smoke.

Same stared, his expression suddenly fearful. “No,” was all he said. But in that ‘no’, Dean found a realization.

Crowley _was_ plan B. 

And now he and Sam were trapped. 

Magnus sighed. “I’m a man of my word, Sam. And I said I wouldn’t kill you.”

Dean’s eyes flickered back and forth from the knife to Sam’s face multiple times, because he didn’t trust Magnus’s word or whatever. He hurt Sam. And now who was going to stop him from doing it again?

“But that was before you broke a demon king in here to try to rob from my collection.” Magnus’s voice sharpened and became cold. “Sometimes, I break my promises. I’m sorry, Sam. You shoulda stayed away, I suppose.”

He raised the knife high above his head. 

“Magnus!” Dean shouted, straining against his bonds. “Don’t. _Don’t!_ ”

“Dean—” Sam locked eyes with him for a second, a horrible, painful, drawn-out second, and then… 

The knife was buried up to the hilt in Sam’s jugular.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The sounds were terrible. 

When someone has their throat slit, they live on for a few seconds, sometimes up to a minute. Their heart continues pumping blood that spills out of the wound and all over their clothes with a sickening gurgle. Sometimes they try to talk, which makes choking sounds. 

Sam didn’t try to talk much. He just went limp, and that was how he died. 

Magnus sighed, wiping the blood off of the blade with a handkerchief that he pulled out of his back pocket. 

“Why do they have to bleed so much?” He muttered to himself.

Dean stared. He was stunned, unable to speak. 

Then he saw Sam’s hand twitching on the ground as the last drop of life drained from his body. 

That was when the screaming started. 

“Dean, Dean, calm down!” Magnus cried, “Goodness gracious, you’re throwing a fit. Stop it!”

“Bring him back!” Dean raged, “You have a million antiques in this place, you better have something to fix him, you better bring him back!”

“Dean…”

“Now!” And then there were tears, honest-to-God-embarrassing-tears. “Please. Fix him. Bring him back!”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Magnus sighed again. “I wish you wouldn’t fuss so. You have eternity to look forward to now. Sam’s life, all human lives, in fact, are so short that you won’t even remember him soon.”

“No, I don’t want it. Hear me? I don’t want your goddamn eternity, I want Sam!” Dean tried to call back the anger but he was crying for real now, slumped uselessly in the chains. “All I ever wanted was Sam.”

“Oh, dear.” Magnus now appeared slightly distraught. “If I had known how this would’ve upset you I would have done it without you watching. I’ve been alone for a while, Dean. I forget how easily mortals get attached to one another.”

“Sam is my _brother._ ”

“Exactly. I should’ve done this differently.”

Magnus extended his hand again, an apologetic look on his face as he came closer. 

_He’s going to do another spell_ , Dean realized. _But what about Sam? What is he-?_

“No. You can’t,” Dean pleaded, nearly in hysterics. “You have to fix Sam. You can’t just— He— and _I—_ ”

“Shh. Close your eyes. Relax.”

The hand rested on his forehead. “ _Somnum,_ ” Magnus murmured. 

And then, despite how Dean tried to fight off the foreign magic, there was nothing that he could possibly do. Everything was just too heavy.

Dean’s vision started to go dark, his eyelids beginning to droop. The last thing he saw was the blurry starfish of Sam’s body on the floor, and the last thing he heard was Magnus’s voice, low and soft, promising and lying that everything would be alright.

**𐌃𐌏𐌋𐌏𐌓**

Waking up was the worst.

Okay, that was perhaps a lie. Dean had been through much, much worse. But at the moment, where he had forgotten where exactly he was, what had happened, and was only aware of his own headache, that was what he thought. 

Then it all came crashing down. 

Dean sat bolt upright as the memories flooded back in a confusing blur of color and commotion. It was so confusing for a moment that he didn’t even register that he was lying in a bed — large, with lush, red blankets and fluffy pillows — or that he was in his own room, painted brown like the rest of the place but less ornately decorated. 

Somebody had changed his clothes. He was no longer wearing what he had been before; now he was dressed in tan cotton pants and a white T-shirt. 

But that didn’t matter right now. None of it did. Dean chased down the memories until he found what he had feared:

Sam was dead.

And Dean had failed to protect him. 

“Oh God, Sam,” Dean barely managed a broken whisper.

He collapsed against the soft mattress, allowing it to cradle him as he began to tremble. In any other situation, he would find a way to get Sam back, whether it be a demon deal or a crazy spell. But trapped in here, there was nothing he could do. 

Sam was dead, and this time, he was going to stay that way. 

Dean heard a sob. It took him a moment before it registered that the sound had come from him. 

For a good half hour, he stayed in that room and just let himself cry. Dean didn’t do that often; never, in fact. He hadn’t cried in a long, long time. But he did now. 

Eventually, he forced the sobs to subside until he was gasping, struggling to pull in each shuddering inhale and his chest heaving with each exhale. His eyes felt hot. Dean wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, desperately trying to scrub away tears. 

It wasn’t working very well; he was still a red-eyed mess, but at least he wasn’t crying so hard now. He had to get it together. For Sam. Even though Dean couldn’t bring him back, he could escape, and avenge his brother. Yes, that was it. Kill Magnus. 

For Sammy. 

Dean felt his lower lip tremble and he allowed himself one last pitiful sob before he shut off the tears. It was time to focus. He had a plan now, and even though everything hurt and he just wanted Sam, he at least had something to do.

_I’m sorry, Sammy._

Dean forced himself back up into a sitting position, let out a shaky breath, and studied his surroundings. It was fairly empty. Magnus must’ve anticipated that Dean would try to find something to turn into a weapon. 

_God dammit._

Dean swung one leg over the side of the bed, tentatively touching his barefoot to the floor. It was cold. Still, he made himself stand up. Then he checked under the bed for anything he could use as a makeshift knife, but there was nothing. He thought perhaps he could break off a piece of the carved wood that made up the four poster bed, but it had to have been enchanted because it was as hard as stone. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered. 

Okay, change of plans. 

He looked around the room again. There were two doors. They looked the same except one had a lock and one didn’t. Dean tried the one without the lock and revealed a simple bathroom; bathtub and shower, toilet, sink, and that was all. 

Dean tried to twist off one of the faucets to use a weapon, which he had done many times in the outside world, but once again, they were enchanted. 

That left only the other door. 

This one must lead to the hallway, right? It couldn’t possibly be anything else; Magnus wouldn’t just trap him in here forever.

Dean placed a hand on the knob and turned it. 

Right away, he was surprised to find that it was unlocked. That was new. Since when did captors let their captives free from their cages? This didn’t make sense. It was either a trick or some mad attempt at reverse psychology to earn Dean’s trust. 

“Still, an open door’s an open door,” Dean muttered to himself, “I ain’t about to pass it up.”

He stepped out in the hallway, weary for vampires or shapeshifters or other kinds of creatures that were part of Magnus’s ‘zoo.’ Dean was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he had no shoes, jacket, or weapon. Though he still had on pants and shirt he felt naked without socks or some kind of defense. 

_First step, find a door. Get the hell out of here. Then come back and get revenge for Sammy._ Dean recited the words over and over in his head until he could almost taste them. 

Alright, find a door. 

He had heard Magnus say that this place had no doors or windows to the outside, but there had to be at least one. And even if there wasn’t Dean just needed to collect the things for the spell that opened the portal. 

So he roamed through the seemingly endless maze of hallways and rooms, treading lightly, his body tense as he listened for threats while at the same time searching for a way out. He ran his hands over every inch of wall that he could in hopes of the finding the raised edge that meant a secret door. 

Hours seemed to go by, and Dean’s search produced nothing. Frustration started to build up inside of him. 

“Son of a b—”

Footsteps. 

Dean froze, listening as the sound grew closer. Yes, someone, or something, was coming this way, and here he was, defenseless. He glanced around the room. It was filled with old antiques and relics, many weapons. He lunged for what looked like a dagger with a handle wrapped in human skin, but an electric shock raced through Dean’s body when he got too close. He jerked away with a cry of pain. Magnus must’ve put a spell on all of his relics to prevent Dean from touching them. 

Dean cradled his hand to his chest and turned around to face whatever was there. 

It was Magnus.  
Dean wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or relieved that at least he wasn’t being pitted against a monster without a weapon. In the end, he decided that he was a mixture of both. That is until he remembered. 

“You killed Sam,” he snarled. 

Dean’s vision went red and he lunged without a second thought. 

His hands tightened around Magnus’s throat. Quickly, Dean began to squeeze as hard as he could. Magnus only smirked. Suddenly, he crumbled to dust in Dean’s hands. 

Dean snapped up, whirling around to try again. Magnus had reformed behind him. 

“I’m gonna kill you,” Dean ground out. 

Magnus smiled back. “ _Clipeum._ ”

This time when the hunter lunged sharp pain seemed to wrap around his spine and squeeze. His breath stopped in his lungs. His vision went from red to stars as his brain screamed for whatever the hell was happening to stop.

Dean lost all train of thought and his body dropped to the ground. The pain stopped immediately as soon as he had stopped trying to harm Magnus. He lay there and gasped for breath.

“You can’t attack me, Dean,” Magnus said as he knelt next to where Dean was curled up on the floor. “I have spells to be sure of that.”

“Coward,” he rasped out, chest heaving. 

“That is a word that people use entirely to invoke violence. Am I a coward, or am I just intelligent enough not to rise to your bait?” He stood up again with a shake of his head. 

“Come on, stand up.”

As much as Dean would’ve liked to defy Magnus, lying on the floor and doing nothing hardly made a statement. ‘Joke’s on you, I’m gonna lie here _forever!_ ’ Yeah, no. 

Dean shakily got to his feet, his heart beating loudly while his blood boiled in anger. If looks could kill then Magnus would be dead and buried. 

“Such a nasty glare! And I’ve been so kind as well,” Magnus gestured for him to follow as he began to walk from the room and down the hallway. “I cared for you this past week, allowed you to sleep off your grief — Though you have been crying, haven’t you? Your eyes are red.”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean muttered, then stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait, I was out for a week?”

“Not ‘out,’ more like having a mental breakdown.” Magnus tried to keep his tone even, but Dean could sense a tiny bit of irritation, almost like an eye-roll but articulated. “Your attachment to Sam was strong. Nearly unhealthy. Do you really not remember seven whole days?”

The mention of Sam was enough to make Dean a mixture of devastation and fury all over again; he clenched his fists and dug his nails into the palms of his hands to keep from swinging. 

“No,” he said, his voice low, angry.

“Easy,” Magnus warned. Then his tone returned to its normal sound. “Well, you were a mess. Now come on. You've eaten practically nothing in seven days and I can’t have you getting malnourished on me.”

He started walking again. Dean stood in place for a second, unwilling to follow. Then he remembered that the other option meant standing there and waiting for something else to find him so he reluctantly stepped forward. 

Magnus lead him through even more hallways. Dean struggled to keep track of them all before finally he remembered where they were; the entrance to his left led to the room where Sam was killed. Suddenly it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. 

“Here,” Magnus was saying, “The kitchen is just through this door…” Then he realized Dean had stopped a good ten feet behind him and wasn’t listening to a word he was saying. 

_Don’t throw up,_ Dean was chanting in his head as a sudden nervous sickness began to roll around in his stomach, _Is the blood still there? Probably not, Magnus was too concerned about his precious carpet… What did he do with Sam? What—_

“Dean.” Magnus’s expression had softened, though just barely. “This way, please.”

Magnus’s voice ignited new anger. Dean bared his teeth. 

“You killed him,” he spoke almost to himself, muscles tense, “You didn’t even care. Sam’s dead because of you.”

Magnus inhaled deeply. “You need to relax right now, do you understand? There’s nothing you can do about it now, and there’s definitely nothing you can do to me, either.”

The man was right. Because of that spell, Dean couldn’t touch him. 

So when his anger got the better of him he turned around and punched the wall as hard as he possibly could. 

Magnus shouted in surprise and anger, but Dean didn’t hear. All he was aware of was the cracking sound of his knuckles breaking as they drove through drywall. He ignored the pain and pulled back again, ready for another swing. 

A hand grabbed his fist and pulled. Magnus jerked him away from the wall. 

“You’re acting like a baby,” Magnus snapped, “Enough.”

Dean forgot for a second about the spell, overcome with grief and frustration, and aimed his already bruising first directly at Magnus’s nose.

The pain was worse this time. Dean couldn’t help crying out as the sensation sent rolls of agony down his spine and coursing all through his body. It became hard to breathe, and thus hard to scream, so soon all he could do was fall to the floor where his body twitched and jerked until it was over. 

“The spell is intended to make it feel worse every time you try to harm me,” Magnus explained with a frown. “I hope you won’t try to do that again. You’re only hurting yourself.”

With a wave of his hand, the hole in the wall was fixed. The effects of Dean’s anger were gone in a second. 

He struggled for a moment before he was finally able to get a normal breathing rate. Then Dean pushed himself back up, wincing when his hand twinged with pain. 

“I could fix that for you,” said Magnus while he gestured at the injured hand, “But I don’t think I will. You need to learn your lesson.”

“I’ve had worse,” Dean muttered. 

“I’m sure. Now, as I was saying before you had a tantrum, _this way._ ”

Dean had lost this battle. It wasn’t a great way to start out his captivity, but there would be other chances, right? Somehow, he would catch Magnus off guard, or manage to kill him indirectly. Then he would find a spellbook somewhere and escape, or maybe Castiel would figure out where he was and come bust him out. 

Dean had gotten out of worse situations with nothing. So although his plan wasn’t much, it was something, and something was all he needed.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The kitchen looked grotesquely normal. It almost reminded Dean of the bunker. 

Though it was large and decorated like the rest of the place, it still had scratched linoleum floors and wood cabinets that needed another coat of varnish. The decorations included only a few paintings and cookie jars that looked suspiciously like they were once urns. 

Besides the wraith standing behind the stove, it was normal.

Dean didn’t notice her at first. But when the petite woman passed in front of a decorative mirror on the wall and he saw her true form, he panicked and instinctively grabbed at the poker hanging on a rack next to a fireplace. 

Magnus threw out a hand and stopped him. 

“She isn’t going to hurt you. She’s my cook,” Magnus told him, pushing him back away from the fireplace. “Calm down.”

“That’s a wraith,” Dean said frustratedly, “I don’t know if you forgot or something, but I’m a Winchester. Every monster you’ve got in here would love to kill me.”

The wraith looked up from what she had on the stove and glared. She looked like she was twenty-five, with dark hair and eyes, a heart-shaped face, and smooth skin, but in reality, Dean knew she was much older. Monsters had a tendency to look centuries younger than they truly were. 

“Good morning, Mara,” Magnus said to her, “I need a plate of eggs and toast, small portions if you would.”

The wraith, or Mara, didn’t reply with anything save for a nod of her head. 

Dean backed away from the island that was the only barrier between him and where she worked at the stove. Magnus looked at him with an almost affectionate shake of his head as if Dean were a small child who had done something funny. 

Scrambled eggs and a slice of toast were placed on a plate. The plate clattered against the island countertop when they were done and Mara turned her back. 

Magnus patted Dean on the shoulder but Dean jerked away from the touch. 

“Just eat. Then wait for me here. I’ve got to go set up a few things,” The man sighed.

“Not hungry,” snapped Dean.

“You haven’t eaten in a week. Yes, you are, you just aren’t aware. Now eat. I’ll be back.” 

Magnus walked from the room and left Dean alone with a wraith not even five feet away. 

Mara still didn’t say anything. Neither did Dean. 

Then, quick as a flash, he jumped forward to grab the plate before retreating back to where he had been standing. The entire movement was fluid and took less than two seconds. 

This time, Mara laughed, tossing her dark-colored bangs out of her eyes. 

“Shut up,” Dean snapped. 

Still, she smirked, even as she took pots and pans from the stove and placed them in the sink. She turned the faucet on. 

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be a little on edge,” he accused, “Besides, you have a weapon and I don’t.”

She turned around and raised her eyebrows at him, crossing her arms over her chest. 

Dean backed away a little more, closer to that poker in case he needed it. “Oh, come on — your wrist-spike-thing.” 

Mara shook her head, rolling up her sleeve. There was a piece of medical tape just below the palm of her hand. When she peeled it back, Dean saw a scabbed-over hole where normally a deadly spike would emerge to drain brain fluid, the wraiths’ only food source. 

Oh.

“How do you eat?” Dean asked numbly. 

Mara walked across the room where a broom and mop were leaning against the wall. From behind them, she pulled an IV pole upon which hung a bag that was full of what could only be brain fluid. She tugged on the cord, quickly changed to a clean needle, and inserted it into the hole below the medical tape. Then she stood and waited for him to say something. 

“Did Magnus do that to you?” The words popped out before Dean realized he had said them. 

Mara’s expression became flat. She nodded sharply. Then the wheels on the bottom of the IV pole squeaked as she pulled it across the floor back to the sink so she could finish the dishes. Her back was turned to him and Dean felt a shiver run down his spine. 

Quietly, he began to pick at the eggs. They were done well, flavored with salt and a little bit of pepper. He didn’t have a fork but decided he didn’t want to ask for one, opting to eat with his fingers instead. Despite what Magnus had said, Dean decided he wasn’t hungry. He set the plate down on the brick platform around the fireplace. 

Mara must’ve heard it because the sound of running water stopped. Wheels squeaked again as she moved across the room, this time coming towards him. Dean backed away slightly. He wanted a safe amount of distance between himself and the wraith, even if she had been mutilated. 

Then he realized Mara wasn’t coming for him. She picked up the plate instead, holding it out to him. 

“Not hungry,” said Dean for the second time that day. 

Mara’s eyes narrowed. _You’re going to get in trouble,_ she seemed to say. 

She thrust the plate at him again. 

Dean still refused. “I don’t want it,” he snapped. 

She still persisted. Then Dean realized he had read her eyes wrong. It was more like, _You’re going to get_ me _in trouble._

“This would be a lot easier if you would—” Then Dean stopped. “Hey, you can talk, can’t you?”

Mara stamped her small foot against the floor in frustration. Then she tilted her head back to reveal two small, clean scars on either side of her trachea. 

“Did Magnus do that, too?” 

She nodded. Then, again, tried to give him the plate. 

Dean felt even more unwell now, but he could understand where she was coming from, why she would be worried or even afraid. Magnus was sick. Not that Dean would ever be on the side of a monster, but still, you kill monsters, you don’t torture them. 

Well, unless you have to. But Magnus definitely didn’t. 

“Look, just gimme the toast, throw the rest away and I’ll say I ate it, okay?” Dean said finally. 

Mara rolled her eyes but silently agreed. 

Dean inched forward, snatched the toast, and then back up again. Mara seemed to find this behavior amusing. Though she didn’t laugh as she had before, the smirk was back. Dean had only just finished the toast when he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching. Mara must’ve heard it too because she quickly got busy with scrubbing at a pot that had probably contained yesterday’s dinner. 

“You’re still here,” said Magnus as though he had been pleasantly surprised. “Honestly, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had run off, trying to find a way out of here.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw the corners of Mara’s mouth twitch upward. 

“And I see that you ate. I told you you were hungry,” the man continued upon seeing the empty plate next to the sink. 

Dean glared. “Whatever.”

Magnus ignored that last bit. Despite Dean’s earlier behavior, it seemed as though he was in a good mood. 

“We’re going to the practice room now,” he said, brushing off the comment. “We need to get started right away.”

“To the what now?”

“The practice room. The First Blade is hardly of any use if you can’t even hold it.”

Dean withdrew slightly. He didn’t want The Feeling to come back; it hurt and it was too overwhelming. 

The Mark sent a twinge up his arm. 

Without really paying attention to it, Dean placed his good hand over the mark, willing the sensation to go away. He didn’t like The Feeling. But at the same time, something in his chest yearned to hold the First Blade again, for his fingers to wrap around the handle and bury the toothy bone into someone’s chest—

“There, now,” Magnus’s voice was suddenly soft. He pulled Dean’s injured hand away from his arm but didn’t release it, running his fingers up and down Dean’s palm. “I know it hurts, but you’re already starting to feel the cravings, aren’t you?”

Dean pulled his hand away as hot denial burned through him. The action pulled on his hand, though, which was damaged from hitting the wall. His fingers throbbed. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he managed, hissing at the pain. 

“I think you do, and I think you’re lying to me right now.”

Dean growled at him. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

“ _Language,_ ” said Magnus sharply. It was the first time he had actually snapped at Dean since he had been there. Then he let out a breath, calming himself. “Listen, I don’t want to use that spell again, but if you aren’t going to cooperate, I will make you.”

Dean didn’t even have to ask which spell. He knew which one; the one that had drained him of all strength and will, left him afraid and empty inside. He flinched. 

“Fine,” he said, hiding the worry that he felt underneath harsh tone of voice, “But I’m going because I want to, not because you told me to.”

Magnus didn’t reply, apparently deciding to allow Dean to think that. Honestly, it made Dean even angrier, but he didn’t let on. 

“Either way, you will follow me. Now come on.”

Dean squared his shoulders. He was going to do this as dignified as possible. Somehow, he would find a way to get out of this. He cast a glance over his shoulder. 

Mara had had her back turned the whole time.

**𐌅𐌖𐌓𐌏𐌓𐌄**

The practice room had to be the only room in Magnus’s home that was truly empty.

Grey walls, grey floors, bright lights installed in the high ceiling, and that was all that was there. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. In the corner stood a stand. And on the stand was placed the First Blade. 

Dean noticed it before he saw it; the hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood up as soon as he walked into the room. His heart seemed to leap into his throat. Instantly, the First Blade seemed to call. He faltered in the doorway. 

“Come on, don’t stop now,” Magnus warned him, “The more time you spend away from the blade, the more it will hurt when you pick it up again. It’s already been a week.” 

“It’s supposed to hurt _more?_ ” Dean asked, alarmed. 

“I won’t lie to you, Dean. After the first time you hold it, it will be more painful if you don’t settle into a routine.”

Big, red warning signs went off in Dean’s brain. This was a bad idea. He couldn’t do this, not if it was supposed to get worse. The Feeling was already too much for his body to handle, for his mind to handle. 

“I think I’m good, thanks,” Dean grimaced. But though he was telling his feet to move away from the Blade, his body seemed rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes off of where it was on the stand. 

Magnus gave him a smile, though warning danced in his eyes. Tread lightly, they seemed to say. “Just get it over with, Dean. It won’t hurt as bad tomorrow. It will get easier every single day as long as you don’t prolong it; this is the hardest part.”

“Easy for you to say! You don’t have this damn thing,” retorted Dean. 

“You’re right, I suppose,” Magnus answered lightly, “But I’m not taking no for an answer, Dean. I was telling the truth when I said I didn’t want to use that spell. And I’m telling truth now when I say that I will if you make me.”

“I’m not making you do anything!” Dean exploded, “I don’t even want to _be_ here! You tied me up, hurt my brother, killed him, and you—”

The touch of a hand on the skin of his temple cut him off abruptly. Dean knew immediately what was happening but was powerless against it; he knew that. As his will was sapped away fear took its place. 

“Please,” he whispered. 

“Hush,” Magnus said, his other hand coming up to cup Dean’s cheek, “ _Mentem tuam ac voluntatem adsumo._ ” 

Emptiness.

Dean’s knees buckled; he would’ve fallen had he not slumped against Magnus’s chest. 

Everything seemed useless. There was no point to any of it, no point in trying to avenge Sam or to reach Castiel. There was no point in trying saving the world. It would only get in mess after mess, and Dean was tired of being the one who made it that was. He was too tired even to _care._

“Frightening thoughts, aren’t they?” Magnus asked gently. “An unfortunate side effect, but what can you do, you know?" 

He helped Dean get back to his feet. The room spun for a minute. 

"Here’s a thought… Exactly what I tell you to.”

“Magnus—”

“Stand up. Good, good job. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

 _It’s terrible. It’s terrible and I hate you._

Dean shivered. 

“What I want is for you to go over there and pick up the First Blade,” Magnus ordered. When Dean balked a little, he continued, “Don’t be a baby, I’m not asking you to do anything with it. I just want you to hold the damn thing. You can do that, can’t you?”

It wasn’t like Dean could tell him no. He nodded miserably. 

“Yeah,” he muttered. 

“Off you go, then.”

Dean repressed a shudder. Slowly, he walked towards the stand. The Mark of Cain began to tingle. As he grew closer to the Blade, the tingling increased until it was stinging him, and as his hand hovered just above the handle, it began to burn. Dean jerked his hand away in a panic and began to tremble. 

“Dean,” said Magnus reproachfully, “I know you can do this. You’ve done it before.”

“It hurts,” he said quietly. “I haven’t even touched it yet and it—”

Magnus frowned. “You really are very good at resisting that spell. Don’t make me perform it again.”

No. Dean didn’t want him to do it again, especially while he was still affected by it being placed on him even once. He shook his head quickly. Magnus smirked. Dean turned around again to where the Blade was. The Mark burned once more as he reached for it, every fiber of his being telling him not to do this, but part of him telling him that he had to… 

His hand wrapped around the handle and everything turned red. 

Dean couldn’t hear himself screaming but he knew that he must be; he was doubled over on his knees, his back hunched, but unable to drop the First Blade even as it tortured him. The first time he had held it, Dean wasn’t sure if it had been painful or just overwhelming. But this time Dean was sure. There was no way he couldn’t be — this was agony. Excruciating beyond anything he had felt before, even in hell.

Most torture is designed to rip you apart. But the Blade was almost pulling him back together — only it was using itself as the glue, trying to weave itself into his body and mind, and destroying him in the process. 

Dean could almost just hear his voice, far off and distant from the roaring of blood in his ears, begging for it to stop. He would’ve been embarrassed if he could focus on anything but this excruciating fire in his veins.

Dean’s arm was suddenly engulfed by one thousand degree heat. He flung the blade as far away from his body as he could. 

His body shuddered, jerked once, and then he was staring up at the ceiling while he tried to remember how to breathe. 

Magnus was practically shitting himself with glee. “Brilliant! I knew you had it in you; you are Henry Winchester’s grandson after all.”

Dean curled up on his side, clutching desperately at his arm. The Mark Of Cain was still burning, making his arm quiver. 

“I-It isn’t stopping,” he gasped about, his teeth clacking together as he shuddered, “Oh, God, it isn’t stopping, Magnus please—”

“Just wait. It will stop eventually.”

“It isn’t!”

Magnus crouched down next to him. “Come on, sit up. Back against the wall for me.”

“What are you…?”

“Now, Dean.”

Dean pushed himself into a sitting position slowly. He whimpered embarrassingly when his hand came in contact with the floor, sending lighting up and down his arm that seemed to emit from the Mark. He held it limply to his chest, trying to protect himself from any more pain. 

Magnus reached for Dean’s arm. “Let me see.”

“No!” Dean quavered, “Don’t. Don’t touch it.”

“Let me see,” he repeated. 

“You don’t get it you son of a bitch, it fucking hurts!”

Magnus backhanded him, hard. Dean felt pain explode in the side of his face, reverberate through his jaw and down his spine. Blood burst in his mouth; he must have accidentally bit his tongue or the inside of his cheek. 

“Watch your language,” Magnus said firmly, “Do you understand?”

Dean’s eyes watered, so he blinked multiple times to clear them as he forced himself to nod. Yet it seemed Magnus was still waiting for something, a verbal answer, some sort of response. 

“I’m sorry,” he tried. Magnus seemed to like that.

“I accept your apology. Now I’m going to tell you again: Give me your hand.”

This time Dean didn’t argue. He slowly extended his hand out, biting his lip to keep from actually screaming as the movement sent waves of pain spiraling from the Mark throughout his entire arm. 

Magnus’s touch was gentle. He held Dean’s arm in one hand and carefully ran the other up and down Dean’s skin in a slow, back and forth motion. At first, it hurt. Dean tried to pull away, every muscle in his arm twitching, but Magnus wouldn’t let him move. Eventually, the hunter realized that all he could do was endure, so be braced his other arm up on his knee and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. 

“Shh. It’ll be easier tomorrow. You’ll never have to feel this way again as long as you keep practicing,” said Magnus, as though his words were supposed to be of some sort of comfort. 

He kept going, tracing his fingertips lightly up and down the length of Dean’s forearm. Dean shuddered even though the pain was beginning to fade; Magnus’s touch disgusted him.

“Better?” The man asked. 

Dean looked away. As much as he hated the pain, he refused to admit that it _was_ starting to feel better, refused to give Magnus even an inch. 

“So stubborn, Dean.” Magnus shook his head. “Though I suppose there are worse things someone can be.”

Dean tried to pull his arm away again. Magnus still didn’t let go. In fact, he tightened his grip, making Dean wince when the man’s nails dug deep in his skin. 

“Let go,” said Dean sharply. 

Magnus traced his fingers over the Mark. Then, to Dean's complete and utter horror, he raised Dean’s arm to face and pressed his lips over the burning scar in his forearm. When he pulled away he laughed at Dean’s expression. 

Magnus released the hunter’s arm and leaned forward, cupping Dean’s face with his hands, so close that Dean could feel his breath on his face—

“You _are_ adorable, aren’t you, Dean?” He asked. When Dean tried to respond but failed due to an onslaught of stammering, Magnus merely chuckled. 

Dean panicked. He was cornered between the wall and Magnus, but he twisted his body to the side, pushed off the floor to propel himself forward, and _ran._

One thing he knew for certain was that that guy was a fucking sicko and that Dean couldn’t be in the same room with him for even another second. Magnus didn’t try to chase him, and the door to the practice room was unlocked. As Dean shoved it open and ran down the hallway, he discovered he didn’t care why. 

All that was important was getting as much space between Magnus and himself as humanly possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There might be a few typos in this one. I tried to hit it with a fine-toothed comb but I feel like a few mistakes may or may not have escaped me, but that's okay. If anyone finds any feel free to let me know and I'll fix them. Formatting issues have also been bothering me slightly; I'm still not used to the way AO3 works yet lol  
> Thanks to any and all readers! I hope you enjoyed :3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter is basically a big rape. If you don't like this material I wouldn't recommend reading it, also I'm not very good at writing scenes like this one so it might not be very good. The problem is that I've already tweaked it as much as I could without getting rid of it entirely so this is what we're left with. Hopefully, it's not super cringe... But no promises xD
> 
> Edit: Okay this chapter took a long time because AO3 acted weird and put in a bunch of formatting tags that I didn't do, I fixed it but it took like forever. Also, I usually only post on weekends (or I'm planning to anyways) cause school takes up a lot of my time. Well, I suppose the semester's almost over and then we have winter break here in America so maybe I'll post more often then, but we'll see.  
> Sorry if there's issues with formatting or any typos. Let me know and I'll fix them <3

Chapter Four

Dean had no idea where the hell he was going. 

Magnus lived in a maze, all hallways that looked exactly the same, decorated with no difference from room to room, no stairs, no windows. He had no idea how to get to his room, or even back to the kitchen.

_Where do I go, what do I d— Is that a library?_

Yes! A library meant books, which meant spellbooks, which mean that he could get out of here. Dean hurried into the room and closed the door, sliding the lock into place behind him. He doubted that it would stop Magnus; he was mostly counting on not being found for that. 

Wow, Dean had forgotten that Magnus was first and foremost a scholar. The library was massive. Upon closer inspection, Dean found that there weren’t just magic books, but actual novels. James Patterson, Stephen King, Tolkien, and all sorts of names that Sam would recognize lined the shelves. 

The thought of Sam brought up a tightness in Dean’s throat. He forced it away and moved deeper into the library. 

“Magic, spellbooks, c’mon, where’s your shit at, Magnus?” Dean whispered rapidly. He didn’t have that much time to find a spell, much less a spell that didn’t require ingredients. 

‘Herbs, Plants, Cures, and More, by Alvina Asherah.’

_Nope._

‘Magic Without Wands, by Egorim Runner’ 

_Maybe, not really..._

‘Jinxes and Curses to Make Friends and Destroy Your Enemies, by Queen Mother Rowena MacLeod’

 _Might be fun on any other occasion, but for now— ‘Queen Mother Rowena Macleod?’_ Wow, Dean didn’t know Rowena had it in her to write a book. _I guess you learn new things every day._

Finally, just as he about gave up, Dean found a big, leather-bound book that appeared to be one volume of an entire set. He looked at it closer and found the name _Cuthbert Sinclair_ in a tidy scrawl at the bottom corner of the first page. These had to be Magnus’s original spellbooks, the ones he had written when he abandoned the Men of Letters. 

‘Volume 1: Exits, Entrances, Doors, Etc.’ 

Dean almost cheered out loud. _Oh my fucking God, yes,_ he thought. He grabbed it off the shelf. As he began to flip through the pages, however, a horrible feeling settled in his stomach. 

The entire book was written in code. 

Some of it was recognizable, probably derived from Latin, but that was only the conjunctions. Everything else had been passed through some sort of coding that was impossible to comprehend. Sure, Dean could probably decode it if he had the materials and about seven or eight years, but that was out of the question.

He wished he had Sam. Sam would know what to do with the book.

_If only you were here, man,_ Dean thought desperately, _You always knew how to do this sorta stuff better than I did._

Dean slammed the book shut in frustration. Then, he heard the sound of a door being opened. 

His heart leaped into his throat. Acting purely on instinct, Dean tucked the book under one arm and scaled one of the ladders that were leaning against the closest shelf. It lead to a sort of balcony that stored more shelves and books. Knowing he didn’t have much time, the hunter took off, trying to hide somewhere in the endless shelves. 

“Dean.” Magnus’s voice sounded far away, seeing as how he had only just entered the massive chamber. “This is incredibly immature.” 

__Dean ignored him._ _

__Alright, he was gonna get caught, no denying that. But he had to be smart about it. As long as he could hide the book and Magnus didn’t know that he was trying to decode it, he could always come back to it later. Dean whirled around, desperately trying to find a place to stash the book as Magnus’s voice grew louder._ _

__“I’m giving you the option of coming to me yourself,” Magnus was saying, “But I’ll use a spell if I have to.”_ _

__Shit, shit, shit, shit…_ _

__“I’ll count from five.”_ _

__Where the hell were you supposed to hide a book in a room full of books?_ _

__Shit, shit shit shit…_ _

__“You won’t like the consequences if I have to do that, though.”_ _

__The answer struck him right between the eyes: Plain Sight._ _

__“Five…”_ _

__Shit shit shitshitshit..._ _

__“Four… Three…”_ _

__Dean tried to figure out which books Magnus read least, which shelf had the most dust, was visited least often._ _

__“Two…”_ _

__ShitshitshitSHIT—_ _

__Dean had barely enough time to lunge at a shelf labeled ‘planetary fiction.’ Just as the journal he held came in contact with the shelf, he heard the dreaded ‘one’ pass through Magnus’s lips. A strong, invisible hand seemed to grab him by the throat._ _

__The next thing he knew, his vision went blank, and when it returned, he was sprawled out of the first floor of the library at Magnus’s feet. Dean stared dizzily up at the ceiling. His eyes seemed unable to focus._ _

__A foot nudged him in the ribs. Dean massaged his aching throat with his hand, giving his head a quick shake to clear it. When his mind seemed able to work again he shot a glare up at Magnus._ _

__“Don’t give me that look; I warned you, didn’t I?” Magnus said with a roll of his eyes, “What was that back there? What makes you think you can just take off like that?”_ _

__“I don’t know,” said Dean impatiently as he stood up, “What makes you think you can do creepy-ass stuff to people when they tell you to stop?”_ _

__At the reminder of the discomfort Magnus had inflicted on him in the practice room, Dean backed up a few feet, his face suddenly red. Magnus wasn’t having it and actually moved forward to neutralize the space between him._ _

__“It makes the spell work better if we come in contact with each other,” came the simple answer._ _

__“What, the brainwashing one?” Dean felt like he had just been punched in the gut. “Look, that spell sucks enough already. It works fine without you getting all touchy with me, you know?”_ _

__He was so busy with the apprehensiveness about this new information that he didn’t realize Magnus was creeping closer, closing the space between them bit by bit. He ignored Dean’s words._ _

__“I wanted us to be partners, you know. Doing this together, but not just the training or the wielding of the first blade. All of it. We could share the power. We could share each other,” said Magnus, and he got that far off look of excitement in his eyes as if he was reliving a dream._ _

__“What does that even mean?” Dean cried frustratedly._ _

__“But that’s only if you obey. If you make me fight you, I’ll use that spell, and I’ll do what it takes to make sure it works.” Magnus’s hand snapped out and grabbed onto Dean’s arm with an iron grip. “Either way will get me the same result. It’s up to you how I achieve it.”_ _

__Magnus didn’t let go, and now he was still moving forward, forcing Dean up against a wall. Dean felt the color drain from his face when the man’s lips began to move in sync with the words of a spell — one that seemed to drain all of Dean’s physical strength._ _

__“What did you just do to me?” He demanded as he attempted to struggle. It was to no avail; the spell had effectively made him about as strong as your average twelve-year-old._ _

__“Don’t worry, it’s temporary. I could even give your strength back to you right this second, as long as choose the easy way.”_ _

“What are you trying to _do?_ ” 

Dean jerked and fought as best as he could, but soon he was crushed between the wall and Magnus’s body. Then, something hard brushed up against his thigh. Dean realized that it was Magnus and suddenly it clicked what was happening. 

“No. _No._ Get the hell off of me, now.” He tried to keep his voice steady and authoritative, but he couldn’t help the panic that was beginning to creep in. “Get off!” 

“Easy way or the hard way.” Magnus’s expression changed, the dreamy, excited look in his eyes becoming predatory and animalistic. “One is equally better for both of us, the other is only worse for you.” 

__A coarse, went tongue suddenly licked over the skin of Dean’s neck. Dean almost let out an embarrassing cry of terror but held it in, a sharp gasping sound emitting from his throat instead as he struggled and trembled in trepidation._ _

__“Choose,” Magnus said in Dean’s ear, his voice low._ _

__Dean desperately thought of what he wanted to do. Cursing and struggling wasn’t going to work here, and begging… he wasn’t ready for that kind of degradation._ _

__“C’mon, man, you don’t wanna do this,” Dean tried, almost in hysterics, “Just let go. I’ll go hold the Blade, okay? I’ll eat when you tell me to and all that good stuff. But this—”_ _

__Magnus looked disappointed. “The hard way it is, then.”_ _

__Before Dean had time to react Magnus had pushed him down against the floor, hard. An invisible force seemed to hold him in place. Dean’s arms and legs felt heavy, almost like they were weighted, and he found he was unable to move them. This wasn’t true for Magnus, though._ _

__Magnus moved Dean’s arms so that they were pinned to the floor above his head. Then he spread the hunter’s legs — not ridiculously wide, but enough. Whatever magic he had at work was doing its job. A panicked Dean was now lying on his back, immobile, and ready for whatever Magnus had in mind._ _

_This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening…_

__“Shh, it’s alright, relax.” Magnus was smoothing down Dean’s hair with one hand while cupping his face with the other. “This doesn’t have to be difficult. Well, it won’t be, because you can’t exactly fight me. You know what I mean.”_ _

__“Don’t.” That was all he could think to say. Dean’s voice sounded raw and strained._ _

__“Relax,” the other repeated._ _

__Dean’s shirt was removed quickly. Magnus placed his cold hands flat on Dean’s chest and began to move them slowly up and down Dean’s sides. He repeated this motion a few times before moving lower, his hands coming to rest at the cloth waistband of his captive’s pants and then _oh my God he’s really gonna do it isn’t he—__ _

__Magnus coaxed the pants down agonizingly slowly. His boxers were next; Dean buried his face into his bicep so he wouldn’t have to look at Magnus as he inspected his lower half._ _

__“That’s fine, you don’t have to look if it makes it easier.”_ _

__The older man’s hand wrapped around Dean’s flaccid penis and he began to pump up and down._ _

__In any other situation, it might’ve felt good. But right now, the Winchester was so terrified out of his mind he almost couldn’t remember his own name. Even when the tongue came back and licked again at his neck, then at his collarbone, he was too zoned out in his own terror to register what was happening._ _

__Magnus seemed to realize that no matter how skilled he may or may not have been at giving handjobs, Dean wasn’t going to harden up. He moved on with a sigh. He was already sitting between Dean’s legs, but now he pushed them up higher, completely exposing his ass. His hands, still freezing cold, spread Dean’s cheeks._ _

__Then a finger, cold and slicked with some sort of fluid or lubricant, pushed its way inside of him._ _

__Dean was jerked out of whatever numbed dreamland he had tried to hide in as the pain suddenly burned through him. Sure, he had been with a man before, not that he would ever tell anyone that — but he had always topped. Did it always feel like this? Was it supposed to burn so much?_ _

__Either way, it sent a new flame of desperation through him._ _

__“Stop!” He gasped, “I’ll kill you, hear me? Fucking stop it!”_ _

__Dean tried to escape the spell by pure force of will; obviously, he had no hope for it to work but he had to try, dammit; his arms began to shake with effort, aches and pains tearing through his muscles as he struggled._ _

__“Now, Dean. What did I tell you about swearing?”_ _

__“Just stop. Enough, okay? You—”_ _

__Magnus cut him off as he crashed his lips against Dean’s. A hot, wet tongue forced itself into his mouth, exploring every inch and refusing to retreat. All that he could think was that it was gross, wet, and sloppy and that he wanted it to end. A second finger was added, the burn increased. Humiliation burned through him when he actually whimpered at the pain._ _

__Magnus broke off the kiss. “It would hurt less if you relaxed.”_ _

“You’re _hurting_ me.” 

__“You need to relax,” the other repeated._ _

The third finger slipped inside of him and slowly all three appendages began moving up and down. Dean knew that the smart thing to do would be to relax, take time to adjust or else he would be hurting real bad real quick, but the idea of actual penetration seemed so far away and he detested the thought so much that he refused to believe it was going to happen. Dean bared his teeth, tried to bite the next time that Magnus got too close. 

Magnus smacked him. Hard. The open-ended slap stung badly, sure to leave behind a welt. Dean was in so much pain already that this was enough to make his eyes well up. “If you bite me,” Magnus growled, “You will be very, _very_ sorry. Do you understand me?” 

Even though it hurt, Dean braced himself to get hit again and ground out, “If you don’t stop touching me I’ll do whatever the hell it takes to _get the fuck away from you!_ ” 

__This time, Magnus didn’t slap him. He grabbed Dean by the hair, reared up, and slammed the hunter’s head against the ground once, twice, three times. Crack, crack, crack!_ _

__Each time fireworks of agony crackled through his skull, stars exploding in his clouded vision. His eyes felt hot. Dean realized he was crying now._ _

__The fingers inside him retreated. He heard the sound of rustling cloth, then the click of a belt buckle. Squeezing his eyes shut so he wouldn’t have to see, Dean struggled to make room for air in his lungs among the denial and dread._ _

__Something bigger than Magnus’s fingers pushed up against him. Then, something gave, and deep, churning pain lit a fire in Dean’s abdomen while a sharp ache that seemed to start in his hips shot all the way up his spine._ _

__Dean couldn’t help it; he screamed through his teeth at the intensity of the burning sensation._ _

_This isn’t happening,_ he found himself thinking again, _This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening, this isn’t h—_

__Magnus pulled his hips back and then pushed them forward again with undeniable force. Dean found himself unable to bring any other thoughts to completion while the pain burned from deep inside him almost as badly as if an iron were burning him from within._ _

“Deep breaths,” Magnus whispered to him, pausing for a second to nip at the skin of Dean’s neck, “I’ll tell you again, _relax._ This could be so much better.” 

“I don’t— I don’t want it. Please,” Dean shivered when he felt teeth scrape at his collarbone again, followed by a tongue licking gently to soothe the pinkened area. “J-just stop.” 

__Magnus seemed to have grown tired of telling Dean to relax because he picked up the pace without a trace of remorse. As the speed and roughness of his thrusts increased_ _

__Dean could stop from crying out. His body’s natural instinct was to curl up into something fetal but the magic kept him pinned in place._ _

__The magnitude of what was happening became too much, and Dean actually blacked out for a few seconds._ _

__“None of that. Come back to me.” Magnus shook him a bit._ _

__When Dean came to, he realized with horror that he could hear the slick, wet sounds of Magnus moving in and out with each pain inducing thrust. He stopped struggling, went completely limp, hopelessness taking over._ _

“ _No._ ” His voice broke. It was almost as if he believed that if he said it enough, somehow, this would all stop. “No…” 

__Magnus jerked his hips and Dean whimpered. The agony raging in his core suddenly burned out of proportion to what it had been before. His stomach flipped and oh, God, was he going to be sick? The blunt force of Magnus’s cock ramming up against his diaphragm over and over again told him yes if this didn’t stop right fucking now._ _

Suddenly, Magnus let out a groan, his body tensing. He was thrusting so hard that Dean’s body was being pressed against his magic restraints. Dean was in so much pain that for a split second he didn’t care about dignity and he screamed, fuck if he cried a little, too. Something hot burst inside him. He was able to piece together his sanity enough to gather one thought: _He just came inside me._ The repulsion he felt was indescribable as he felt semen beginning to leak out of his body. 

__Dean’s chest heaved with exhaustion as Magnus pulled out of him, his dick limp once more. He tried to hide his face again, unable to look into the face of the man who had tormented him in a way that he had never experienced the rawness of. Magnus didn’t seem to care about Dean’s humiliation, though._ _

__His thumb came to rest just below Dean’s wobbling lower lip, his hand tilted Dean’s head back forward to look at him. “One day, I hope that when we do this you won’t be held down; we might be in a real bed and you’ll enjoy yourself as much as I do, maybe even more. Won’t it be nice to receive pleasure, Dean, and nothing else? That can happen, it doesn’t have to hurt. I can pleasure you. You just have to let me.”_ _

“I don’t want it,” Dean whispered, “I don’t want this. You can do whatever you want to me and I’ll let you, as long as it isn’t this. Never this.” 

__“That isn’t a choice. Pleasure or pain; those are the only two options.”_ _

__“Fuck you and fuck your options!”_ _

__Magnus frowned. “We really do need to work on your swearing.”_ _

__He tucked himself back into his pants and redid the buckle. Then he stood up, took a step back, admired his captive on the floor. Dean blushed scarlett when he realized that he was completely naked and Magnus was fully dressed, staring at him. It wasn’t fair. It was humiliating._ _

__“I think we learned a lesson today, hm?” Magnus asked. “We’ll return to the practice room tomorrow.”_ _

__The pressure on his wrists suddenly released. Dean grabbed his clothes, covering himself even though the other man seemed to find this amusing. Tears were drying on his cheeks but he wiped them away anyway._ _

__“You’re telling me that’s it? You just go ahead, rape me, and then life goes on as normal? You want— you want me to listen to you and respect you and do this all over again?”_ _

__“When you refer to ‘this,’ I’m assuming you mean sex?”_ _

__“What else?”_ _

__“Well, of course. We won’t be having sex every day, obviously, but it would be wise for you to begin to expect it.”_ _

__A horrified feeling settled in Dean’s stomach. “How often?” He asked, his voice quivering slightly._ _

__“As often as I decide. Come now, get dressed. I hope you don’t intend on staying in here forever.” Magnus extended a hand to help Dean to his feet, but he dropped it with a sigh when the hunter flinched away._ _

__“I can’t do this again. I can’t. I know you want me to and I know you'll try to make me but I can’t go through that again,” he cried, his voice becoming desperate._ _

__“You’ll be fine. Now, come on.” Magnus reached for him again._ _

__Dean withdrew. “Don’t touch me, dammit!”_ _

__He forgot for a second that he wasn’t supposed to swear. The next thing he knew, Magnus was pulling back, and then his hand drove for Dean’s face with the force of nearly ten punches behind it. Dean was struck abruptly on the side of his head._ _

This time, he couldn’t feel the pain because he was knocked out too quickly for it to register. 

**𐌂𐌏𐌍𐌕𐌓𐌉𐌕𐌖𐌌**

_Why does it still hurt?_

__Dean opened his eyes. He was warm, or at least part of him was. His chest up was covered in goosebumps that contrasted greatly with the heat of the bathwater that covered his skin below. The muscles of his lower half were laced through with a deep ache that seemed to settle in his tailbone and hips. Any movement hurt._ _

__The water lapped at the side of the tub as he jumped, terror spiking in his chest for a second until he remembered where he was. The bathroom adjacent to his room, probably._ _

__Had he really been asleep in the bath? Didn’t people sometimes accidentally drown that way? Wow, that would suck, if after everything that he had lived through Dean Winchester drowned in less than three feet of water…_ _

__“Calm down, I was watching you.”_ _

_Oh God, anyone but him._

__Shivering slightly, Dean made eye contact with the man kneeling next to the tub. Magnus gave him a smile. “You were kind of messy. I figured you’d like to get cleaned off,” the man explained._ _

_He… He fucking_ washed _me?_ His skin did have the pink tone of someone who had been lightly scrubbed, a few soapy bubbles glistened on the water’s surface. Dean’s eyes widened and he pulled his knees into his chest in a desperate attempt at modesty. 

__“Oh, come on. It was nothing I hadn’t already seen,” said Magnus with a shrug. “You’ve got a couple of nasty bruises, by the way. Oh, and these.”_ _

__His finger came to rest on a red bite mark just below Dean’s collarbone. A hickey. Magnus had given him a goddamn hickey. Dean recoiled from the touch._ _

__“Go away,” he croaked. God, his voice sounded awful, all raspy and broken._ _

__“You’ll want my help getting up and into bed. Believe me, you won’t be much for walking until tomorrow, if even then.”_ _

__“No thanks to you,” Dean muttered. He closed his eyes, now opting to ignore Magnus instead._ _

__“I have clean clothes for you.” Like that was supposed to make Dean change his mind. ‘Clean clothes? Why didn’t you say so?’ As if. When Dean didn’t reply, Magnus reluctantly offered a different deal. “If you let me help you dress and get into bed, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of today. You won’t hear another word from me.”_ _

__Dean opened one eye._ _

__“No tricks?” He asked warily._ _

__“Not a one.”_ _

__He thought about that._ _

__“Fine. Just — Don’t touch me more than you gotta, ‘kay?”_ _

__Magnus didn’t reply. He took Dean by the arm; helped him to stand and step over the side of the bath. Dean realized that Magnus still hadn't restored his strength yet. Magnus was able to pull him this way and that while the hunter had to comply. The fact that any twelve-year-old could come along and beat him up made Dean's face go red._ _

__“Sit here,” Magnus said, pointing at the edge of the tub. Dean complied, wincing when sparks of pain shot through the sore portion of his body. Magnus pretended that he didn’t notice._ _

__Clean pants, a shirt, and underwear were waiting on the counter next to the sink. Magnus took these and proceeded to help Dean into them. Dean’s breath caught in his chest, a moment of panic taking over as he felt his attacker’s hands on his skin again. His limbs froze. He felt himself stop breathing._ _

__“Hey, wake up. Nothing’s happening to you right now,” said Magnus, almost gently, as if he might even care. “You’re okay.”_ _

__The room seemed to spin so Dean shut his eyes tightly.”Just hurry up.” Then, suddenly worried that Magnus would get mad and strike him again, he added, “Please.”_ _

__Magnus’s lip twitched upward in an amused smile._ _

Soon he was dressed, and then Dean was told to stand again. Jesus, was he ever sore. Each step towards the bed felt like a negotiation rather than an order, a heavy ache rolling through his muscles. Even with the other’s help, he could barely stand it. _Maybe I really should’ve relaxed,_ thought Dean grimly. 

_Falling onto the bed had the same feeling as when he was a child and would throw himself into his mother’s arm. The ache began to fade to dull pain. Wow, he was tired again._

__

__

__How long ago had he woken up? It hadn’t been that long, surely._ _

__“I want you to stay in bed for the rest of today and all of tomorrow morning. I’ll come for you when we need to go back and practice,” Magnus informed him, “I’d like for you to be able to hold the blade longer than a few seconds.”_ _

__Dean grunted into his pillow, neither confirming or denying that he agreed._ _

__“I’ll send Mara in here with food for you later. For now, sleep.”_ _

__“Don’t gotta tell me twice,” said Dean under his breath._ _

__Magnus placed his cold hand on the back of Dean’s neck in what was supposed to be an affectionate touch. He lingered there for a moment. It was only when he pulled away again that Dean realized he had forgotten once more to breathe._ _

__He took a deep breath when Magnus finally left and the door closed with a quiet thud._ _

Now what? 

__He couldn’t get up, couldn’t move. The only way he wasn’t hurting was if he was lying completely still. That left Dean one option, and one option only, which was to lay there alone with his thoughts. He instantly rebuked the idea. When it came to being by himself and thinking… Well, that never exactly went well._ _

__That meant that all he could do was fall asleep._ _

__That wasn’t too hard, honestly. Dean’s body was sore and tired. His eyelids already felt heavy. He buried himself deeper into the mattress, wrapping the blankets tightly around his body as though it could protect him. Dean pushed down all emotion and allowed himself to drift off to sleep without another thought._ _

__Later, probably two or three hours after he had passed out, a hand touched his shoulder._ _

__Dean shot upright and swung before he even realized he had moved._ _

__In a blind panic, he tried to get out of bed and run; it didn’t matter that he had nowhere to go as long as he could get somewhere where Magnus wasn’t—_ _

__Then he was staring into a pair of big brown eyes._ _

__Mara placed both of her hands on his shoulders, staring into his face. Her eyes landed on the bite marks that covered his neck. Her expression darkened slightly; she pushed him back, back against the mattress. This was easy since Dean was about as strong as a sixth grader. Her small hands were gentle, careful, wary of his bruises._ _

__She touched her cheekbone, then pointed to him, raising an eyebrow as if to ask a question. Dean winced. “Yeah, he, uh, hit me a few times.” His shaking reached up to touch the mottled bruise on his cheek._ _

Mara pushed his hand back down and shook her head. Her stern look said all — _Don’t you touch it._

__She turned to the nightstand next to the bed. There was a mug there, set close enough to the edge that Dean realized that she must’ve placed it there only just in time to avoid his fist when he had swung at her. Mara picked it up and held it out to him._ _

__“Sorry for trying to hit you. I didn’t mean it,” he said as he took the mug. It felt weird to say that to a monster. Normally, he was always trying to hit them. Mara seemed to be thinking this as well because she gave a quiet laugh._ _

__Dean found that the mug contained soup, warm but not too hot, and tomato by the taste of it. It was good. He swallowed a small mouthful but after that found his stomach was still too knotted up for food._ _

__Mara crossed her arms over her chest, giving him another stern look._ _

__“Come on, it’s not that I don’t like it. I’m just not feeling too hot right now, ya know?” Dean said apologetically._ _

__She rolled her eyes and took the mug out of his hands, placing it back on the nightstand. Then she pointed at it firmly._ _

__“You want me to finish it later…?”_ _

__Mara nodded._ _

__“Okay. I’ll try.”_ _

__For a wraith, Mara was… Okay. Nice, even. Dean’s hands started shaking again so he clasped them tightly in his lap. For some reason, his eyes started misting over. God, it was just some soup, it wasn’t like she had saved his life or anything. She probably wouldn’t have brought it if Magnus hadn’t told her to, anyway._ _

__He wasn’t grateful to her. He was just so upset and wounded that one act of maybe kindness was enough to make him want to confide in her. Mara was a wraith. A monster. Dean couldn’t forget that._ _

__Too late._ _

__“Mara,” he said, and his voice broke. “Magnus, he— It was—” Dean could hear emotion creeping into his voice and grew frustrated, stopped talking, angrily wiping away tears._ _

__Mara pressed her lips into a thin line. She nodded to show that she understood, pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and used it to dab under his eyes. And Dean fucking let her. He couldn’t look her in the eyes, shoulders shaking as he tried not to cry._ _

__Mara put her hands over his clasped ones. There was understanding there, but also pity. Dean knew that she understood what had happened without him having to tell her. He knew he should be embarrassed, but he wasn’t. He was just so relieved that there was someone, even a wraith, who knew what was going on, even if he hadn’t decided if she was on his side yet._ _

__Mara withdrew from him and reached inside the pocket of her baby pink sweater. From it she pulled a small packet; she ripped it open and poured its pale blue powdered contents into the mug._ _

__“Is that…?” Dean started to ask._ _

__Mara pressed a finger to her lips and nodded, warning him to keep it a secret. Then she pointed to the mug, clasped her palms together and laid them under her head with her eyes closed as though she had fallen asleep._ _

__“That stuff’ll knock me out,” he realized, and she nodded. “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”_ _

__Mara almost smiled; not quite, but almost. Then she nodded again. She patted his hand one more time before she stood up and headed for the door. Her hand barely lifted, not even above her hip, and she gave him a little wave that was so quick Dean wasn’t even sure he had seen it. Then she disappeared out the door._ _

__Dean didn’t hesitate to down at least half of the mug after that. As the drugs took effect, he realized that they helped with the ache, too. Mara had truly been trying to help him._ _

_Hey, knock that off,_ he thought suddenly, staring into the remnants of the mug. It was no good making allies with a wraith, especially in a place like this. She could be lying, after all. Or she could be nothing but a spell, an image Magnus had created to trick him. 

__Still, he had sensed nothing threatening from her. Mara seemed like she genuinely wanted to help. And anyhow, she had given him drugs, something Dean was certain Magnus would never do…_ _

__It was too much to think about, and Dean was getting tired now. He had barely enough time to stumble from his bed to the bathroom to pour the remaining contents of the mug down the sink — he didn’t want Mara to get in trouble in case Magnus found the mug and realized that something was in it — before his eyes were already drifting shut of their own accord. He crawled gratefully into bed, pushing the confusing thoughts away. Despite this, one still lingered in his mind right before he fell asleep:_ _

_Never woulda expected_ that _from a wraith._

__And then the world went away._ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm suuuuuuuper sorry this was late. I ended up having visitation with my dad over Christmas break and I couldn't bring my Chromebook with me, so I couldn't do any work on this progress. I tried to write as much as I could afterward but I hardly get anything done during the week. Also, I'm leaving again because my mom has a business trip that's happened next weekend, so I'll be gone then, too.  
> That being said I'll be doing a lot of planning for this story and for right now I have a completed chapter for you. IT TOOK ME FOUR FREAKIN' TRIES TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE I'M LITERALLY NEVER SATISFIED WITH MY WORK LIKE EVER. But here it is, so I hope you enjoy:)  
> Also sorry if there's any formatting issues/typos I suck at using Ao3

Over the next few days, anyone who saw Dean would look at him and say, yep, that guy’s a mess. A wreck. A few nickels short of a dollar. 

Dean went sort of numb for a little while. He ate when Magnus told him to, endured the pain of holding the First Blade, didn’t respond to Mara. He never talked unless Magnus asked him a question. He forgot about the book that he had hidden in the library.

For a few days, Dean even forgot how much he missed Sam and how much he wanted to see Cas again.

Magnus actually seemed bothered by this. Dean realized he had misjudged him; the man didn’t want a mindless, obedient slave. He actually seemed disappointed when Dean responded to his questions with a one-word answer or nod or shake of the head only. Sometimes he even said things that he knew would bother the hunter in an attempt to get any sort of reaction from him, but it never worked. Dean just didn’t care.

The two were seated in the dining room at an expensive and elaborate dark oak dining table one evening. Dean picked wordlessly at his food, refusing to meet Magnus’s eyes. He longed to go to bed. Mara emerged from the kitchen carrying a pitcher of water. As she filled Dean’s glass her eyes briefly crossed paths with his, but he pressed his lips together and looked away.

“Don’t be bothered, Mara,” said Magnus lightly, “Dean had recently decided he hasn’t much felt like contact lately.”

He did, however how he tried to hide it, show signs of disappointment when Dean didn't retort back irritatingly.

Mara’s expression flickered with annoyance but she pushed it back while she filled Magnus’s glass. Magnus didn’t notice this. He was too busy watching Dean’s face, waiting for a response.

“Isn’t that right, Dean?” Magnus asked pressingly. God, he was desperate for any sort of reaction.

Dean shrugged.

_I ain’t giving you that satisfaction, you lump of fuck_ , thought Dean though the sarcasm felt forced and was mostly bland.

“Will you at least eat something?” Magnus asked.

“I am,” responded Dean flatly.

“I mean _eat_ eat, not take three bites and then just push the rest of it around on your plate.”

Dean looked him dead in the eyes and flicked a pea to the left of his plate with his fork.

Magnus’s jaw clenched, his grip tightening on his fork. “Dean,” was all he said. His tone changed slightly, hinting at warning. His eyes flashing.

The hunter turned his gaze to his lap, his shoulders hunching up to his ears. He didn’t want to get in trouble. However, he didn’t apologize, either. With shaking fingers he put the fork down next to his plate. His hand fell back down to his side.

“That isn’t what I asked you to do,” said Magnus reproachfully. “You need to eat well if you want to be strong enough to hold the Blade.”

_That’s not what I want. That was never what I wanted._ “I’m not hungry,” Dean murmured.

“You’ve barely eaten anything for days. Then you complain that it hurts to hold the Blade when you aren’t even giving your body the fuel it needs to contain that much power.”

Dean scowled. He wouldn’t be in that situation at all if it weren’t for Magnus. All of this was Magnus’s fault. He clenched his hand into a fist. For the first time in a long time, he felt something; he felt anger.

_I won’t swing. I’m not doing anything that’ll get me in trouble_ , Dean told himself firmly. There was no use in that. It wouldn’t get him any closer to getting revenge for Sammy.

Sammy…

“I’m at my wit's end. You’ve been so unresponsive lately and I don’t know what you want me to do. I’ve been trying to work with what you’ve been giving me — which is nothing, by the way — that I’m beginning to wonder if this is worth it at all.” Magnus's voice elevated slightly to where he was almost yelling.

“Then kill me.”

“Excuse me?”

Dean’s previous bravery faded slightly. “I said— I said kill me.”

Magnus clasped his hands together on the table and leaned forward, his eyes narrowed.

“Is that what you want, Dean?” The man asked, and Dean felt a chill run down his spine.

“If this isn’t worth it to you, then yes. You already killed one Winchester, what’s one more?” Dean challenged.

Some emotion that Dean couldn’t quite place flickered through Magnus’s eyes. It was almost like suspicion, or a guarded look, but before Dean could be sure it was gone.

“I’m beginning to wonder,” said Magnus smoothly, “If I should’ve perhaps left your brother alive. He was very persuasive for you the first time we all happened to meet. Remember it only took two minutes of Sam’s pain for you to beg me to stop.”

Dean felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. The force of Magnus’s words knocked the air out of him and he stared, stunned, and this man, this monster, who was cruel enough to exist in the way he did. Dean couldn’t understand it.

_I’m not going to pick a fight, I’m not gonna swing, I’m not…_ But his reminder trailed off as the remnants of his grief boiled to hot anger.

“Don’t talk about Sam,” he said, his voice shaking, “Don’t you say his name.”

“Don’t think for one second that you are in a position where you can tell me what I may or may not do.”

“You killed him, you—”

“Dean!” Magnus said loudly, sharply. “I highly suggest that you settle down before you say something you regret.”

Dean froze. Suddenly he was aware of the fact that was no longer seated in his chair but standing up, hands hardened into fists.

“Sit. Down.” Magnus put harsh emphasis into each word.

A pang of fear jolted through him and Dean silently lowered himself into his chair. What was even the point of getting angry anyway? Magnus would get him in trouble, maybe even hurt him, and it would all be for nothing.

“I’m waiting,” said the man impatiently.

_Waiting for what?_ “I’m sorry?” Dean tried.

“That didn’t sound very heartfelt at all.”

_Because it isn’t, asshole._ “I’m sorry for acting like a d— for acting up.” The words tasted like poison in his mouth.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Magnus with a light shake of his head. “I accept your apology and you’re forgiven. I suppose next time I’ll have to be aware that that brother of yours is a sensitive topic.”

Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.

Dean forced himself to nod along with what the man said, his vision going red.

“Maybe it’s better that I killed him after all. Yes, he was persuasive, but he may have also been a distraction.”

_Shut up shut up shut up shut up—_

Magnus had no intention of shutting up.

“It was all for the best. Wouldn’t you agree, Dean?”

Dean didn’t answer. He couldn’t, because he didn’t agree at all and saying so definitely wouldn’t help him at all.

“Dean?”

Magnus was pressuring him to answer now as if he wanted to make Dean react so he could punish him. Dean felt the anger rising up inside of him again.

“When I ask you a question I expect a—”

Something snapped and before Dean was even aware that he had moved he threw himself across the table, grabbed the knife that Magnus had next to his plate, and stabbed his captor directly in the chest with it.

Or, he tried to, anyway.

Dean had forgotten about the spell that made any weapon in this place instantly send waves of pain through his entire body. Within moments of grabbing the knife, his body jerked as agony lit his nerves on fire and he collapsed to the side, falling off of the table to the floor. The knife scratched Magnus’s arm only as he fell before the blade clattered to the ground nearby.

Dean twitched spasmodically, waiting for the pain to end and finding that it didn’t, his muscles burning like white-hot fire. The only thing he could do was lay there and accept it. 

Then, he would have to accept whatever Magnus was going to do to him as punishment.

He cried out, trying to curl into a ball to wait the pain out. Eventually, as it began to fade, he stayed there, shaking.

Magnus crouched down to his level. Dean caught a glimpse of an infuriated expression on the man’s face before he burying his face in his arms in fear. When he felt a touch on his shoulder, his body flinched.

“None of that,” Magnus snapped. “Being afraid and pitiful is not going to help you here. Stand up.”

Heart beating rapidly, Dean tried to scramble to his feet, but one of his knees buckled. Magnus didn’t care. He grabbed Dean by the arm and hauled him up roughly.

“Did you just try to stab me?” Magnus asked, his voice low, dangerously soft, and terrifying.

The grip on his arm tightened. Dean tried to stammer out an answer, saying, “I-I didn’t think I would— It just sort of happened, I swear I didn’t m—”

“Didn’t mean to? Is that it, Dean? You just _accidentally_ picked up a knife and _accidentally_ attempted to kill me with it?” Magnus shouted in his face. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Dean shook his head rapidly. “Not like that. Look, man, I wasn’t trying to… What you said about Sam...”

Magnus slapped him so fast and so hard that Dean would have fallen to the floor if it weren’t for the painfully tight death-grip on his arm. The hand cracked against Dean’s face, snapping it back with the extreme force of the blow and causing his head to reel sickeningly.

The black dots swarming his vision as an effect of the blow soon faded, leaving Dean staring into the eyes of one pissed off magician.

“Don’t you dare try to imply that this was my fault. Sam made his choice when he decided to sneak Crowley in here to rescue you, and you made your choice when you foolishly decided to kill me just now. Sam had consequences. Now so will you,” hissed Magnus angrily.

“Good luck,” tried Dean, desperately trying to hide his fear with sarcasm and knowing that he had failed. He struggled slightly only because he felt like that was what he should do in this situation but he knew it would be to no avail.

Magnus shook him, hard, and forced Dean to look him in the eyes. “ _Somnum,_ ” he said, his voice cold.

The magic soon took effect. Dean’s limbs felt as though they were weighted down with lead, as did his eyelids. The next thing he knew he was slumped over in a deep sleep.

Looking back, Dean would probably say that he wished that Magnus would just rape him again while he was under the effect of the magic, sort of like being supernaturally roofied. Compared to what really happened even that would be a walk in the park. Of course, he never had it easy. Magnus would be sure of that.

When Dean woke up he was in a dark room, inside a metal dog crate big enough to hold a great dane. Despite its size, he was still forced to curl up inside of it, unable to sit up  
without slouching at least a little.

Gosh, his face was sore. That was a black eye if he ever felt one. Dean shook himself, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light. When they did he noticed that he wasn’t alone in the room. There were other dog crates, too. Each of them contained a person. The kennels were in two rows down both sides of the room, less than six inches apart from each other, so Dean backed away as much as he could.

One of the people, a thin, wiry, and mean looking man pressed his face up against the bars of his cage. His fingers tried to poke through the bars. Then he smiled a cruel, evil smile. A second set of needle-sharp teeth slid out from his gums and he hissed.

Dean froze. This had to be a part of Magnus’s zoo; the vampire section.

Dean pressed himself up against the opposite side of his cage, but then there was another hissing laugh from behind him. The vampire in the crate on the other side waggled her fingers at him in a taunting wave. He jumped back.

“Oh, have you woken up?” Magnus’s voice sounded from somewhere above him. “You have. Good thing, too, I was just about to wake you up myself.”

“What am I doing here?” Dean asked, cutting right to the chase.

“I thought I’d show you some of my zoo,” the other explained. At the word ‘zoo,’ one of the vampires towards the front of the room hissed distastefully. Magnus ignored it. 

“During the day I let my pets run free through my home, with certain limitations, of course, and they spend their nights here.”

“Thanks for the tour?”

“Don’t be sarcastic and let me finish,” said Magnus sharply, and several vampires laughed when Dean was scolded. Then he continued. “Because of your misbehavior, I thought that I’d perhaps let a few of them stay up a little later tonight.”

Dean froze, his eyes widening as he realized what Magnus meant by that. Should he apologize? Beg for mercy? No — not in front of the vampires, many of which probably knew who he was. He couldn’t do that.

Magnus turned to address the other cages. “Listen up, all of you! Dean here is in a bit of trouble today and he needs to face the consequences. So, a select few of you—”

At this, all of the vampires started shouting or rattling the metal bars of their dog crate. It was like watching a first-grade teacher calling on students who were all shouting, ‘pick me, pick me!'

“Dean? As in, Winchester?” One of them asked eagerly.

“Oh, shit, count me in!” Another said.

The thin man in the cage next to him locked eyes with Dean, his toothy grin wider than ever. He didn’t say a word and for some reason, Dean found this even more disturbing.

“Shut up!” Magnus roared, and it grew quiet again. “I will not have you breaking my precious warrior, do you understand? You may do what you like with him, but you will not disfigure, kill, or turn him, do you understand?"

Someone in a nearby cage groaned with disappointment and Magnus aimed a kick at it, hard. “Do you understand?” He repeated sharply.

There was a murmur of agreement.

“Don’t be sad if you aren’t picked; everything will be staying in the room, so you have the delight of watching,” Magnus told them. Then he knelt down next to the door of Dean’s kennel, almost like he was waiting for something. “Go on, say something. Try to change my mind. You have thirty seconds.”

Dean’s mind reeled. He knew deep within himself that if he succumbed, begged for mercy, and apologized, Magnus might release him. But he couldn’t do that here. Pleading from Magnus was one thing; doing it in front of vampires was another.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Dean managed, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

“Are you sure?”

Dean hesitated. Then—

“Yes.”

The vampires cheered; Dean shivered.

“You made this choice, Dean. I’ll be back to collect you in an hour to an hour and a half, understand?”

Dean didn’t respond. Magnus didn’t seem to care. He stood up, slowly walking between the two rows of cages. Then he stooped to unlock one of them. Then another, and another. Vampires grinned with glee when their dog crates were unlocked, groaned and rattled the bars of their cages with disappointment and anger when they were passed by.

Soon, seven vampires were freed, and they began to circle around Dean’s crate with flashing eyes and sharpened teeth. Magnus gave Dean one last look as if asking him to change his mind. When Dean didn’t reply he snapped his fingers and disappeared.

Dean pressed himself into the back of the kennel. One of the vampires kicked it once, twice, three times, until it was knocked on its side. His head collided with the bars on the side so hard that he saw stars. One of the others picked it up and let it fall to the ground. It slammed against the floor with an extreme force that sent jolts through Dean’s whole body.

The caged vampires were cheering, shouting, while the seven kicked the cage around for a good bit. Dean was soon biting his lip to keep from screaming, covered in bruises and even bleeding in some places.

Finally, they grew bored with this. The bars were dented from being hit so many times, so when one of the vampires went to drag Dean out of the cage, she was able to pull the door off easily. She grinned at Dean. He tried to kick at her, but her sharp nails dug into the skin of his leg. The pain caused him to have to bite onto his knuckle to keep from making noise.

She dragged him out, throwing him down onto the floor. Dean was able to get to his feet just in time to swing and nail a punch in one of the vampire’s faces, but he was soon overpowered, pinned to the ground by the arms and legs.

“Look at you, Dean Winchester,” She cooed, tracing her nails down the side of his face. Slowly she began to add pressure until they punctured his skin. Dean grunted in pain. “Never thought I’d see you like _this_."

That brought about a wave of laughter.

The thin, wiry man from before stood up, surveying his victim. “So much to do, so little time to do it,” he said in a low, eloquent voice.

“Kiss my ass,” Dean spat out.

The man grinned again. In half a second he had lifted his foot and then slammed it down directly onto Dean’s face.

It was loud, like thunder echoing. Both of Dean’s ears popped while pain exploded with a heated crackle that seemed to bloom outward from his nose. His head suddenly felt like it was being pressurized or squeezed; all sense of balance was gone.

Dean struggled to stand, spitting a glob of blood mixed with spit out of his mouth. More blood trickled from his now broken nose.

Someone grabbed him from behind, kicking the inside of his knee to force him to a kneeling position. Then another ripped off his shirt to expose his torso. With all seven of them, there was nothing Dean could do but struggle uselessly as he was attacked over and over.

The vampires used their fists, claws, and even their teeth like they were attempting to flay him alive. The only way Dean could describe it was like being hit by a car; blow after blow, his body becoming nothing more than a grotesque mass of bruises and congealed blood.

“You _bitch!_ ” Dean growled out when one of the girl vampires grabbed his hand, bending back one of his fingers as though she were to break it.

“What are you gonna do?” She asked, almost innocently, cocking her head to the side.

At that moment, one of the others, a large, strong looking male, kicked Dean in the ribs and caught him off guard. He couldn’t help but cry out as he felt a few of his ribs snap. 

The girl took advantage of this and yanked down hard on his finger.

The resulting pain wasn’t as bad as the broken ribs, but with the two together, Dean clenched his jaw and screamed through his teeth. Vampires howled with sadistic glee.

“Break another! Break another!” The caged vampires chanted.

“What, his finger or his neck?” The girl shouted back jokingly, resulting with screeches of laughter.

However, they weren’t allowed to kill him, so they settled for breaking each an every finger of Dean’s left hand. When she was done, and Dean was a heaving, agonized mess, the vampire grabbed his other hand.

“Ready for the other one?” She asked.

She didn’t wait for an answer and got right to work. So did the others; they went straight to beating him again. Dean’s vision tunneled and went black. He felt almost like he could feel each individual blood cell bruising. Someone grabbed his left wrist, pulled up and twisted, then forced it back down.

There was a pop, then a crack, then it felt white-hot wires were being sewn through the remnants of severed bone in his arm. And believe it or not, Dean Winchester was only human. He could help the scream of pain that erupted immediately after the sound. There was no way his arm wasn’t broken.

“You and your brother murdered my nest,” screeched the vampire who did, “You will pay for their lives with your own suffering!” He struck Dean hard in the jaw, his long nails leaving two deep gouges in the skin there. Great, more blood on his face.

At this point there wasn’t much Dean could say. He was dizzy, swaying back and forth, even falling over if there hadn’t been vampires there to hold him up each time for more and more beatings. The thick stench of sweat and blood began to overwhelm him. It clotted in his nose and kept going down his throat from all the times he had accidentally bitten his cheek or his tongue.

One of the girl vampires crouched next to him and actually licked some of the blood off his cheek. She laughed maniacally when Dean shuddered and recoiled.  
“What, don’t want a little bit of love?” Then her eyes widened and she threw her head back, exploding with more laughter. “No, don’t tell me — Magnus went and made you his bitch!”

“ ‘M not a bitch.” Dean could barely get the words out.

“Oh, yes, you are,” one of the other said, “Wow, I always knew you were a lot of things, but who knew a pillow-biter was one of ‘em?”

“ ‘M not gay!” Dean cried hotly even though he that was what they wanted him to say. As he said this, though, Castiel’s face flickered in his mind and suddenly Dean felt guilty.

“Then how come you’re all cozied up with Magnus, huh?” Asked one of them as he aimed a kick into Dean’s stomach, effectively knocking all the air out of his lungs.

“I didn’t…” He gasped out, chest heaving as he tried to breathe, “I didn’t ask to be here, or for him to—” He stopped abruptly.

“It’s true, isn’t it? You’re just another one of those anal astronauts. And don’t try to say you didn’t want it, I bet you liked it when Magnus got cozy with you, I bet you begged for more. Isn’t that right?”

Dean didn’t answer, shaking his head rapidly, because he hadn’t liked it. He hated it, he had just wanted it to stop and now he couldn’t get it out of his head—

“You were asked a question, Winchester,” growled the feral, thin vampire from before. He bared his teeth. “Answer.”

“No.” Dean ground out.

“Answer!”

He was struck abruptly on the side of the head, then again. The vampire grabbed Dean by the hair and dug his nails into Dean’s skin, showing his fangs and growling.

“I didn’t want it,” Dean winced in pain, trying to extricate the man’s sharp claws from his now bleeding scalp.

“Liar,” he said, and the vampire hit him again. “Tell the truth.”

“I d—”

“Hey, here’s a hint,” one of the females whispered in his ear, “Say that you wanted it.”

“I didn’t!”

They hit him again. Then the vampire holding him by the hair pushed him to the ground, slamming Dean’s head against the cold concrete floor. Excruciating pain that brought tears to his eyes exploded in the side of his head just as the blood did.

“Say it,” the vampire hissed.

Dean struggled to get his vision to focus, blood pounding in his ears.

“Say it, dammit, or I’ll crack your fucking skull!”

The caged vampires cheered. They were practically drunk on the smell of human blood that wafted through the air and was becoming churned to a violent frenzy.

“Why do you _care?_ ” Dean cried desperately, blood dripping from his mouth.

“Because,” One of the others put their foot on his back, adding pressure to where it became uncomfortable and difficult to breathe. Moving was certainly out of the question. “If there’s one thing we know about you, it’s that you’re prideful. That's your true weak spot. After all, who the hell is Dean Winchester without his dignity?”

“So start singin’, birdy. Or this is about to get a whole lot worse,” another hissed in his ear.

Someone grabbed his ankle, started to twist. Dean tried to withstand it as long as he could but the pain was mounting up until he felt a snap and then _oh my fucking God it fucking hurts—_

“Stop, stop, I’ll say it! I’ll say it, okay?” Dean’s voice was a raw yell, ragged with pain as he desperately tried not to scream again. “I-I wanted it. I wanted it and I liked it, alright?”

“Liked what?” He was asked teasingly.

Dean hesitated. Then someone started twisting his now broken ankle again and he cried out hastily, “When Magnus— I— when we had sex, dammit!”

“You mean when you were his bitch? Say that you’re his bitch. Come on, now.”

“ _No._ ”

“Break his other ankle.”

“No!”

“There’s no third choice, Winchester!” The thin vampire screamed at him. “Make up your mind!”

"Come on," said a third, getting up close and purring in Dean's ear, "It couldn't have been that bad. You don't need to lie to protect yourself. We all know the truth anyway; you _loved_ it when he pinned you down and came inside you. That feeling of helplessness is your ecstasy."

Dean shuddered, panic making it hard to breathe as the third vampire's words brought back harsh memories. Suddenly he felt like he was back in the library again, with Magnus holding him against the ground and mercilessly pounding into him, refusing to stop even when it hurt. He smelled the pungent smell of semen mixed with sweat and the blood that presently covered his skin. Tremors racked his body. 

"Runnin' out of time, Winchester," another vampire said in an angry, impatient voice.

He jerked himself out of the memory. Dean knew he didn’t have any options. The smart thing to do would be to do what they said, save his other ankle, which he would need to escape. But he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. He could never force himself to admit to… _that._

So he didn’t say anything. At first, anyway.

After they shattered his other ankle they started bending his leg the wrong way in order to break it at the knee, and Dean couldn’t help it. The humiliation was almost worse than when Magnus raped him on the floor of the library but he did it; Dean broke down and did what they said.

“I’m… I’m his bitch,” Dean whispered, almost gagging from the disgust that the words brought with them.

“They can’t hear you,” said the vampire, moving his arm in a sweeping motion towards the other cages.

Once again, Dean hesitated, choking on the words while his dignity slipped away. One of the vampires responded by twisting his leg again almost to the breaking point. Dean howled at the pain, trying to jerk out of his captors’ hold.

The leg snapped.

Dean felt his nerves scream, body freeze. He collapsed against the cold ground in his agony until there numbness, and then his vision darkened.

Despite this, it was far from over. The vampires continued to beat him even while he was unconscious until he was nothing but bruises, blood, and brokenness until he was hardly recognizable. They beat him until—

“Dean.”

Dean gasped and jerked away when someone touched his arm, a million panicked thoughts racing through his head that all came down to the very same thing: “Get away from me!” His voice was sore and damaged.

“It’s just me,” said Magnus, holding Dean in place gently by the shoulders, “Don’t fight. It’s just me.”

For the first time ever, Dean was glad to see Magnus. It meant that all of this was over and done with. Maybe he would be allowed to go to bed after this. His eyes were nearly swollen shut but he forced them open, just to be sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Don’t get too excited, dearest,” Magnus warned, and Dean’s heart sank. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”

“What are you…?”

Magnus’s held Dean’s face in his hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead that elicited a deep rumbling laugh from the surrounding dog crates. “You tried to kill me. This isn’t about swearing or bad behavior. This is much more serious. So though it pains me to see you like this, I have to make it worse. I hope you’ll learn.”

Dean’s thoughts whirled. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take. At what point might he snap and go crazy.

But after everything he had just been through, Dean wasn’t capable of articulating this. His mind was fragmented and the words wouldn’t form. “Okay,” he said numbly, too afraid and exhausted to ask any questions.

Magnus gave instructions to the seven vampires but his voice sounded so far-off and distant that the hunter could barely hear. The next thing he knew, five of them came forward. The first four positioned themselves at each arm and leg to keep him immobile. The fifth seated himself by Dean’s head, pressing down on his shoulders to keep his chest pinned to the floor.

“What are you doing?” He barely managed to ask weakly.

“Don’t worry, it will all be over soon,” said Magnus, almost as if he cared.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean caught sight of a long, evil-looking black, whip.

“No!” His body lurched, something like hysteria tightening in his throat and chest while every instinct shrieked for Dean to get the hell away from that thing. “ _Don’t._ Don’t do this.”

“It will all be over soon,” repeated Magnus, “Tomorrow you won’t even remember it.”

“Magnus, I—”

“I hope you get something out of this experience. I don’t enjoy hurting you, Dean. This doesn’t have to happen again.” The man uncoiled the whip in his hands, cracked it through the air to test it.

Dean flinched and gasped, thinking that Magnus was going to strike him with it but due to the absence of pain knowing that this wasn’t the case. The vampires seemed to think this was hilarious. They responded with snide chuckles and laughs, the ones holding him down digging their nails deeper into his skin.

Dean held his breath and braced himself.

The whip lashed against his skin with similarity to fire and Dean felt his skin split easily to reveal the red flesh underneath. Searing pain and ripping sensations as flesh and muscle were torn from the bone was all he could focus on. The following strike was just as jarring. Dean’s rigid body jerked and jutted forward as his body involuntarily tried to escape. Red spattered the ceiling when blood began to fly off the end of the whip.

Soon, the crack of the whip was all he could hear and each time the burning, itching excruciation consumed his world. Dean lost all self-control. He couldn’t think. All he knew was the pain.

Dean could vaguely hear the vampires laughing as he pleaded and cried out from each lash of the whip. His back was on fire, any remaining dignity slipped away as he begged. The last thing that he was aware of were the sounds of his agonized cries echoing from within the room.

Then, mercifully, some force of the universe allowed him to fall unconscious.

**𐌔𐌀𐌍ɣ𐌖𐌉𐌔**

When Dean woke up again he was back in a dog crate.

Everything hurt.

Overwhelming self-pity hit him like a wave. He was in so much pain, even breathing hurt, and Magnus had left him there in a room full of monsters who wanted to—

Where the hell were the vampires?

Dean’s head snapped up — _ow ow ow fucking ow moving hurts like a bitch_ — his eyes frantically scanning the room for the seven vampires who were probably closing in on him this very second to hurt him even more. But where were they? Why were they taking so long?

Dean heard a hissing sound to his left. He whirled around and there, locked up in the cage next to him, was the thin, wiry vampire from before. The vampire grinned.

“Good thing we’re locked up again,” the man said snidely, “Bitch.”

Dean didn’t reply or try to defend himself. He just looked away, his gaze on his hands which rested in his lap. They were covered in blood.

Suddenly, he felt sick to his stomach. It hurt to move even a little but Dean forced himself to curl up on his side, acknowledge that the pain was there, and try to sleep.

“Oh, innocent little Winchester, you can’t ignore what’s happening to you,” said another vampire nearby.

“He’s sure gonna try, isn’t he? Weird,” said another, “Fellows like him don’t grow on trees.”

“But they do swing from them,” whispered the thin vampire, close enough that the words chilled Dean to his bones.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears with his hands. His lower lip wobbling, he then tried to force himself to fall back asleep. It didn’t really work; he hurt too much to pass out again.

Dean was forced to endure another hour of the vampires’ taunts and threats before he finally fell asleep.

**𐌒𐌖𐌀𐌓𐌄**  


A hand touched his forearm and Dean shot awake so quickly that he hit his head on the roof of the dog crate.

 _Fucking ow, fucking ow…_ He wrapped his arms around the top of his throbbing head, shielding his body from more pain.

“I’ve come to get you.” It was Magnus.

Dean didn’t believe it. Last time he had thought it was over, Magnus ended up shredding his back with a fucking whip. He shook his head, pushing himself further back into the kennel. There was no way he could trust this man.

The vampires laughed.

“Dean, I promise, it’s over. We’re going straight to your room,” said Magnus, “That’s all.”

Dean felt sick. Everything hurt and now his heart was beating in his throat again. He had never considered himself to be an anxious person, but now, anxiety was the only word that made sense to him.

“Could be lying,” he said in a small voice.

“I’m not.”

Dean was shivering now and didn’t feel all too great. His head began to ache. Not just where the vampire had slammed it against the ground, but in his temples, like the world’s worst hangover mixed with a fever.

A hand reached into the kennel and gripped Dean gently by the wrist. Magnus was a lot stronger than him right now so he was able to pull the hunter out of the dog crate with ease. Dean flinched when discomfort attacked his wounds.

“Can you walk?” Magnus asked him.

Can _I walk?_ Dean asked himself again in his mind. He forgot for a moment that both his ankles and his leg beside were broken. When he tried to stand he immediately collapsed back to the ground, a sharp sound of pain emitting from somewhere in the back of his throat.

“I can see not,” commented Magnus, “Alright, come here…”

With that, he scooped Dean up into his arms as though the hunter weighed nothing.

At first, Dean objected weakly, not wanting to be anywhere near his captor, but there wasn’t much he could do. The cuts on his back from the whip cracked open and bled anew because of his struggles and the pain soon forced him to submit.

From thereon, Dean drifted in and out of consciousness. He caught glimpses of the hallway, then of the door, and then he was staring up into the top of the four-poster bed in his room.

“Don’t lie on your back,” Magnus ordered. “Mara, go get me a bowl of warm water, a lot of clean towels, and bandages. Oh, and perhaps some soap. Nothing too harsh.”

Mara was with them? Dean hadn’t realized she had been there. Then again, he wasn’t exactly paying attention to his environment.

Soon Mara returned with her arms full of supplies. In the back of his mind, Dean noted how Magnus ordered her out and about like a slave, briefly grew angry about it, but was then hit by a wave of exhaustion and nausea so strong that the feeling disappeared. Mara looked at him with an expression of deep pity.

“I know, he’s in a state, isn’t he?” Magnus said to her, although he didn’t sound too worried about it. “I think I’ll heal some of it with magic. But not all; he needs the reminder to keep him in check. Don’t you agree?”

It wasn’t like Mara could disagree. Dean saw her nod her head, face slightly pale.

Magnus placed his hand on Dean’s leg, right above the break. Dean jolted as the pain hit his leg like a baseball bat. But then, in a second, a cold, tingling sensation settled over the limb. When Magnus pulled his hand away it was still sore but nowhere near as painful as it had been before.

Magnus worked this magic on both of Dean’s ankles, as well as his fingers. “He’ll need those to hold the Blade,” Magnus explained as he inspected Dean’s hand.

That was all fine and dandy, but the deep, long cuts that crisscrossed his back where now the main source of Dean’s pain and were still bleeding. Magnus seemed to be thinking of this, too.

_“Rigescunt indutae,_ ” he said.

Suddenly Dean couldn’t move. His arms and legs were frozen in place. Even his head was stuck where it was, cheek resting on the pillow facing the opposite wall. An unsettled feeling churned sickeningly in his stomach.

“What are you doing?” He asked his voice pitifully quiet and weak sounding.

“I’m going to treat your back and I don’t trust you to lie still during the process,” said Magnus simply, and Dean felt a chill go down his spine. “Hand me that soap, Mara. And Dean, I’d like you to do your very best to keep calm. I don’t believe this part will hurt too badly but part of that is entirely up to you.”

What the hell does that mean?

Magnus began to clean the awfully deep lacerations that sliced down Dean’s back with a damp cloth. Dean bit down hard, clenching his jaw so much that he was almost concerned his jaw might shatter. Sweat broke out of his forehead at the burning affliction.

One lash, in particular, had cut all the way through flesh to show the whiteness of bone. It hurt the worst; at this point, Dean couldn’t help but cry out, and they hadn’t even sanitized the wounds with alcohol yet. That was obviously going to much worse than soap and water. If Dean couldn’t even take this, what was he supposed to do then?

“It wouldn’t hurt if you hadn’t tried to stab me,” murmured Magnus as he worked.

Dean tried not to howl in pain and said what Magnus wanted to hear. “ ‘M sorry, okay?”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

Dean gasped out loud as a particularly bad twinge of pain shot through him. “I am! I won’t do it again. I’m fu— I'm _sorry._ ”

Magnus suddenly stopped, moved to lock eyes with Dean. His gaze hardened.

“Not as sorry as you’ll be if you ever try something like that again. Do you understand?”

The hunter desperately tried to keep his eyes from brimming. “Yes.”

Magnus’s eyes softened again. “Good. I’m proud of you, Dean.” His hand moved towards the bottle of alcohol. “Try to relax for me, okay?”

It was sickening, the way Magnus tried to comfort him as if he hadn’t been the one responsible for Dean’s pain in the first place. Though, to be fair, Dean’s body was tense and shivering, which probably was about to make this whole ordeal much worse. He forced himself to take several shuddering breaths.

So much for that.

Dean yelped and tried to pull away when he heard the sound of liquid splashing and then felt the stinging, panging burn of the alcohol hitting an open wound. He was both agonized and petrified, which wasn’t a good mix.

Magnus was murmuring to him in a quiet voice the whole time, but it did nothing to comfort his captive. The sharp sounds and cries of discomfort kept going and increased both in volume and intensity. Eventually, Dean felt a sob burst past his lips.

Mara took one of his hands and gave it a squeeze.

The process was tedious. There were many wounds to clean, lots of dried blood to wipe away, and the whole time it was obvious that Dean’s body could barely take the pain. His skin turned an ashy white, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His jaw was clenched if he wasn’t screaming but for the most part, he did try to suffer quietly.

“Stop!” Dean gasped out at one point, unable to stop himself, “God, just stop…”

“This is going to keep your injuries from getting infected. It’ll be over in just a bit,” promised Magnus.

Dean knew that cleaning a wound was obviously the right thing to do in this situation but it hurt so much that he didn’t give a damn. “I don’t _care_ , j-just st—” He cut off with a yell as the stinging sensation increased even more if possible. His palms were clammy before but now they were pouring sweat; Mara still didn’t release his hand. Her touch was the closest thing the hunter could feel to comfort.

A clean cloth soaked with alcohol began to clean the deepest wound out of all the lashes. At the first touch of the cloth, Dean’s back became engulfed with hot and cold, excruciation and numbness. An ungodly scream tore its way out of him.

God, if only he had something to _do._ This would be much more bearable if he had something, anything to distract himself. Even if all he was allowed was to squeeze Mara’s hand back, it would’ve helped. But Magnus’s spell prevented Dean from doing anything. He just had to lie there and endure.

“There! It’s done. It’s all done. I promise,” Magnus said, setting down the cloth next to the other supplies on the nightstand. “We don’t need to do that anymore.”

Dean lay there, gasping, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat that thankfully masked the tears. His body twitched and spasmed against whatever magic had him held in place.

Magnus quickly said the countermeasure to the spell. Suddenly it was as if a vice grip on Dean’s limbs let go they resumed a natural position on the mattress. Dean’s natural instinct was to curl up as small as he could to wait the pain out.

“Don’t do that, Dean. You need the bandages.” Magnus stopped him quickly. “Come, sit up straight. Do you need help?”

“No.” Yes, probably, but Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position even though it hurt.

Magnus and Mara then very carefully wound the clean white bandages around Dean’s torso. It took many layers because they became bloodsoaked very quickly, and would have to be changed often, but finally, they were done.

Dean let himself fall back against the mattress and move as far away from Magnus as possible.

“I would like you to take care of all these things,” said Magnus to Mara, “And clean up for the night. I’ll be spending the night here, with Dean. Leave us.”

Mara nodded and quickly packed up the supplies, leaving the room after giving Dean a worried glance.

Dean felt fear about to explode inside him. Magnus was spending the night with him? What the hell did that mean? Surely Magnus didn’t intend of having sex, not here, certainly not now…

Suddenly he felt Magnus’s added weight onto the mattress next to him. Dean shot up when he felt the man’s arm touch him, jerking away involuntarily though it hurt.

“Please, I can’t do this right now, I know you want me to and I have to but it just hurts too much and I can’t—” he had to stop for air, close to hyperventilation— “Just... please. Later. Tomorrow even, but not now. I can’t. _Please_.”

Magnus stopped him, laying a hand on his arm just over the Mark and giving it a squeeze that felt nothing like Mara’s. “We’re just going to sleep, Dean,” he said quietly, “That’s all. I want you to rest."

First, there was relief. Relief that he wasn’t going to be raped while he was like this, that Magnus was going to save it for later. Then he became aware of the irony here, that he was ‘fine’ with being raped as long as it wasn’t now, and he found himself laughing a little bit, on the very edge of hysteria.

The laughter quickly turned to tears. Magnus wrapped his arms around Dean and Dean tearfully realized that he couldn’t pull away, so he did exactly what that motherfucker wanted and cried into Magnus’s shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! There are lots more coming, though most of it is kinda messed up and angsty so I don't know what that says about my personality. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> I'm kind of nervous about posting because I'm not sure what people will think and I'm pretty picky about my content quality, so if you have any constructive criticism I'd love to hear it.  
> Thanks for reading!!!


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